LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


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BV  4501  .M57  1891 
Miller,  J,  R.  1840-1912. 
Making  the  most  of  life 


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MAKING   THE   MOST 
OF    LIFE 


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BY 


J.   R.   MILLER,   D.D. 

Author  of  "  Silent  Times,"  "  Week-Day  Religion,"  "  Practical 

Religion,"  "  Come  Ye  Apart,"  "  In  Hrs  Steps," 

"  Bits  of  Pasture,"  etc. 


**  /  am  the  Lord  thy   God 
Which  teacheth  to  profit " 

Isaiah 


NEW   YORK 

THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &   CO. 

46  East  Fourteenth  Street 


Copyright,  ibgi, 
By  T.   Y.   CROWELL  &  CO. 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.,  Boston. 

Prksswork  py  Alfred  Mudge  &  Son,  Boston. 

T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,   Bookbinders,  Boston. 


A  WORD   OF   INTRODUCTION. 


Alexander  was  accustomed  to  say :  *'  Philip  of 
Macedon  gave  me  life,  but  it  was  Aristotle  who  taught 
me  how  to  make  the  most  of  Hfe." 

To  have  the  gift  of  life  is  a  solemn  thing.  Life  is 
God's  most  sacred  trust.  It  is  not  ours  to  do  with 
as  we  please  ;  it  must  be  accounted  for,  every  particle, 
every  power,  every  possibihty  of  it. 

These  chapters  are  written  with  the  purpose  and 
hope  of  stimulating  those  who  may  read  them  to  ear- 
nest and  worthy  living.  If  they  seem  urgent,  if  they 
present  continually  motives  of  thoughtfulness,  if  they 
dwell  almost  exclusively  on  the  side  of  obligation  and 
responsibility,  if  they  make  duty  ever  prominent  and 
call  to  self-renunciation  and  self-sacrifice,  leaving  small 
space  for  play,  it  is  because  Hfe  itself  is  really  most 
serious,  and  because  we  must  meet  it  seriously,  recog- 
nizing its  sacred  meaning  and  girding  ourselves  for  it 
with  all  earnestness  and  energy. 

iii 


iv  INTRODUCTION. 

If  this  book  shall  teach  any  how  to  make  the  most 

of  the  life  God  has   entrusted  to  them,  that  will  be 

reward  enough  for  the  work  of  its  preparation.     To 

this  service  it  is  affectionately  dedicated,  in  the  name 

of  Him  who  made  the   most   of  his  blessed  life  by 

losing  it  in  love's  sacrifice,  and  who  calls  us  also  to  die 

to  self  that  we  may  live  unto  God. 

J.  R.  M. 

Philadelphia. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Making  the  Most  of  Life  .    .             ...  i 

II.    Laid  on  God's  Altar 12 

III.  Christ's  Interest  in  our  Common  Life    .    .  24 

IV.  The  Possibilities  of  Prayer 35 

V.    Getting  Christ's  Touch 46 

VI.    The  Blessing  of  a  Burden 57 

VII.     Heart-peace  before  Ministry 72 

VIII.    Moral  Curvatures 82 

IX.    Transfigured  Lives 93 

X.    The  Interpretation  of  Sorrow 102 

XL    Other  People 115 

XII.    The  Blessing  of  Faithfulness 126 

XIII.  Without  Axe  or  Hammer 135 

XIV.  Doing  Things  for  Christ 145 

XV.     Helping  and  Over-helping 155 

XVI.    The  Only  One 164 

XVII.     Swiftness  in  Duty 176 

XVIII.    The  Shadows  we  Cast 186 

V 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  The  Meaning  of  Opportunities 196 

XX.  The  Sin  of  Ingratitude 207 

XXI.  Some  Secrets  of  Happy  Home  Life  .     .     .  220 

XXII.  God's  Winter  Plants 231 

XXIII.  Unfinished  Life-building 240 

XXIV.  Iron  Shoes  for  Rough  Roads 252 

XXV.  The  Shutting  of  Doors 264 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  LIFE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MAKING  THE   MOST   OP  LIFE. 

"  Measure  thy  life  by  loss  instead  of  gain ; 
Not  by  the  wine  drunk,  but  the  wine  poured  forth; 
For  love's  strength  standeth  in  love's  sacrifice, 
And  whoso  suffers  most  hath  most  to  give." 

—  The  Disciples, 

According  to  our  Lord's  teaching,  we  can 
make  the  most  of  our  life  by  losing  it.  He 
says  that  losing  the  life  for  his  sake  is  saving  it. 
There  is  a  lower  self  that  must  be  trampled 
down  and  trampled  to  death  by  the  higher  self. 
The  alabaster  vase  must  be  broken,  that  the 
ointment  may  flow  out  to  fill  the  house.  The 
grapes  must  be  crushed,  that  there  may  be  wine 
to  drink.  The  wheat  must  be  bruised,  before 
it  can  become  bread  to  feed  hunger. 

It  is  so  in  life.  Whole,  unbruised,  unbroken 
men  are  of  but  little  use.     True  living  is  really 

1 


2  MAKING    THE  MOST   OF  LIFE. 

a  succession  of  battles,  in  which  the  better  tri- 
umphs over  the  worse,  the  spirit  over  the  flesh. 
Until  we  cease  to  live  for  self,  we  have  not 
begun  to  live  at  all. 

We  can  never  become  truly  useful  and  helpful 
to  others  until  we  have  learned  this  lesson. 
One  may  live  for  self  and  yet  do  many  pleasant 
things  for  others  ;  but  one's  life  can  never  be- 
come the  great  blessing  to  the  world  it  was 
meant  to  be  until  the  law  of  self-sacrifice  has 
become  its  heart  principle. 

A  great  oak  stands  in  the  forest.  It  is  beau- 
tiful in  its  majesty  ;  it  is  ornamental ;  it  casts  a 
pleasant  shade.  Under  its  branches  the  children 
play ;  among  its  boughs  the  birds  sing.  One 
day  the  woodman  comes  with  his  axe,  and  the 
tree  quivers  in  all  its  branches,  under  his  sturdy 
blows.  "  I  am  being  destroyed,"  it  cries.  So 
it  seems,  as  the  great  tree  crashes  down  to 
the  ground.  And  the  children  are  sad  because 
they  can  play  no  more  beneath  the  broad 
branches ;  the  birds  grieve  because  they  can  no 
more  nest  and  sing  amid  the  summer  foliage. 

But  let  us  follow  the  tree's  history.     It  is  cut 


MAKING    THE  MOST   OF  LIFE.  3 

into  boards,  and  built  into  a  beautiful  cottage, 
where  human  hearts  find  their  happy  nest.  Or 
it  is  used  in  making  a  great  organ  which  leads 
the  worship  of  a  congregation.  The  losing  of 
its  life  was  the  saving  of  it.  It  died  that  it 
might  become  deeply,  truly  useful. 

The  plates,  cups,  dishes,  and  vases  which  we 
use  in  our  homes  and  on  our  tables,  once  lay  as 
common  clay  in  the  earth,  quiet  and  restful,  but 
in  no  way  doing  good,  serving  man.  Then 
came  men  with  picks,  and  the  clay  was  rudely 
torn  out  and  plunged  into  a  mortar  and  beaten 
and  ground  in  a  mill,  then  pressed,  and  then 
put  into  a  furnace,  and  burned  and  burned,  at 
last  coming  forth  in  beauty,  and  beginning  its 
history  of  usefulness.  It  was  apparently  de- 
stroyed that  it  might  begin  to  be  of  service. 

A  great  church-building  is  going  up,  and  the 
stones  that  are  being  laid  on  the  walls  are 
brought  out  of  the  dark  quarry  for  this  purpose. 
We  can  imagine  them  complaining,  groaning, 
and  repining,  as  the  quarry  men's  drills  and 
hammers  struck  them.  They  supposed  they 
were  being  destroyed  as   they  were   torn   out 


4  MAKING    THE  MOST  OF  LIFE. 

from  the  bed  of  rock  where  they  had  lain  undis- 
turbed for  ages,  and  were  cut  into  blocks,  and 
lifted  out,  and  then  as  they  were  chiselled  and 
dressed  into  form.  But  they  were  being  de- 
stroyed only  that  they  might  become  useful. 
They  become  part  of  a  new  sanctuary,  in  which 
God  is  to  be  worshipped,  where  the  Gospel  will 
be  preached,  where  penitent  sinners  will  find 
the  Christ-Saviour,  where  sorrowing  ones  will 
be  comforted.  Surely  it  was  better  that  these 
stones  should  be  torn  out,  even  amid  agony, 
and  built  into  the  wall  of  the  church,  than  that 
they  should  have  lain  ages  more,  undisturbed  in 
the  dark  quarry.  They  were  saved  from  use- 
lessness  by  being  destroyed. 

These  are  simple  illustrations  of  the  law  which 
applies  also  in  human  life.  We  must  die  to  be 
useful  —  to  be  truly  a  blessing.  Our  Lord  put 
this  truth  in  a  little  parable,  when  he  said  that 
the  seed  must  fall  into  the  earth  and  die  that  it 
may  bear  fruit.  Christ's  own  cross  is  the  high- 
est illustration  of  this.  His  friends  said  he 
wasted  his  precious  life ;  but  was  that  life 
wasted   when    Jesus   was    crucified }      George 


MAKING    THE  MOST  OF  LIFE.  5 

MacDonald  in  one  of  his  little  poems,  with  deep 
spiritual  insight,  presents  this  truth  of  the 
blessed  gain  of  Christ's  life  through  his  sacrifice 
and  death  :  — 

"  For  three  and  thirty  years,  a  living  seed, 

A  lonely  germ,  dropt  on  our  waste  world's  side, 
Thy  death  and  rising,  thou  didst  calmly  bide ; 
Sore  compassed  by  many  a  clinging  weed 
Sprung  from  the  fallow  soil  of  evil  and  need ; 
Hither  and  thither  tossed,  by  friends  denied ; 
Pitied  of  goodness  dull,  and  scorned  of  pride ; 
Until  at  length  was  done  the  awful  deed, 
And  thou  didst  lie  outworn  in  stony  bower  — 
Three  days  asleep  —  oh,  slumber  godlike,  brief, 
For  Man  of  sorrows  and  acquaint  with  grief. 
Heaven's   seed.  Thou   diedst,  that   out  of  thee   might 
tower 
Aloft,  with  rooted  stem  and  shadowy  leaf 
Of  all  Humanity  the  crimson  flower." 

People  said  that  Harriet  Newell's  beautiful 
life  was  wasted  when  she  gave  it  to  missions, 
and  then  died  and  was  buried  far  from  home  — 
bride,  missionary,  mother,  saint,  all  in  one  short 
year,  —  without  even  telling  to  one  heathen 
woman  or  child  the  story  of  the  Saviour.     But 


6  '      MAKING    THE  MOST  OF  LIFE. 

was  that  lovely  young  life  indeed  wasted  ?  No ; 
al\  this  century  her  name  has  been  one  of  the 
strongest  inspirations  to  missionary  work,  and 
her  influence  has  brooded  everywhere,  touch- 
ing thousands  of  hearts  of  gentle  women  and 
strong  men,  as  the  story  of  her  consecration 
has  been  told.  Had  Harriet  Newell  lived  a 
thousand  years  of  quiet,  sweet  life  at  home,  she 
could  not  have  done  the  work  that  she  did  in 
one  short  year  by  giving  her  life,  as  it  seemed, 
an  unavailing  sacrifice.  She  lost  her  life  that 
she  might  save  it.  She  died  that  she  might 
live.  She  offered  herself  a  living  sacrifice  that 
she  might  become  useful. 

In  heart  and  spirit  we  must  all  do  the  same  if 
we  would  ever  be  a  real  blessing  in  the  world. 
We  must  be  willing  to  lose  our  life — to  sacrifice 
ourself,  to  give  up  our  own  way,  our  own  ease, 
our  own  comfort,  possibly  even  our  own  life ; 
for  there  come  times  when  one's  life  must  liter- 
ally be  lost  in  order  to  be  saved. 

It  was  in  a  mine  in  England.  There  had 
been  a  fearful  explosion,  and  the  men  came 
rushing   up   from   the   lower   level,  right   into 


MAKING    THE  MOST   OF  LIFE,  J 

the  danger  of  the  deathly  afterblast ;  when  the 
only  chance  of  safety  was  in  another  shaft. 
And  one  man  knew  this  and  stood  there  in  the 
dangerous  passage,  warning  the  men.  When 
urged  to  go  himself  the  safe  way,  he  said, 
"  No ;  some  one  must  stay  here  to  guide  the 
others."  Is  there  any  heroism  of  this  world's 
life  finer  than  that  ? 

It  was  at  Fredericksburg,  after  a  bloody  bat- 
tle. Hundreds  of  Union  soldiers  lay  wounded 
on  the  field.  All  night  and  all  next  day  the 
space  was  swept  by  artillery  from  both  armies, 
and  no  one  could  venture  to  the  sufferers' 
relief.  All  that  time,  too,  there  went  up  from 
the  field  agonizing  cries  for  water,  but  there 
was  no  response  save  the  roar  of  the  guns.  At 
length,  however,  one  brave  fellow  behind  the 
ramparts,  a  Southern  soldier,  felt  that  he  could 
endure  these  piteous  cries  no  longer.  His 
compassion  rose  superior  to  his  love  of 
life. 

"General,"  said  Richard  Kirkland  to  his  com- 
mander, "  I  can't  stand  this.  Those  poor  souls 
out  there  have  been  praying  for  water  all  night 


$i  MAKING    THE  MOST   OF  LIFE. 

and  all  day,  and  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I 
ask  permission  to  carry  them  water." 

The  general  assured  him  that  it  would  be 
instant  death  for  him  to  appear  upon  the  field, 
but  he  begged  so  earnestly  that  the  officer, 
admiring  his  noble  devotion  to  humanity,  could 
not  refuse  his  request.  Provided  with  a  sup- 
ply of  water,  the  brave  soldier  stepped  over  the 
wall  and  went  on  his  Christ-like  errand.  From 
both  sides  wondering  eyes  looked  on  as  he 
knelt  by  the  nearest  sufferer,  and  gently  raising 
his  head,  held  the  cooling  cup  to  his  parched 
lips.  At  once  the  Union  soldiers  understood 
what  the  soldier  in  gray  was  doing  for  their 
own  wounded  comrades,  and  not  a  shot  was 
fired.  For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  continued  his 
work,  giving  drink  to  the  thirsty,  straightening 
cramped  and  mangled  limbs,  pillowing  men's 
heads  on  their  knapsacks,  and  spreading  blank- 
ets and  army  coats  over  them,  tenderly  as  a 
mother  would  cover  her  child ;  and  all  the 
while,  until  this  angel-ministry  was  finished, 
the  fusillade  of  death  was  hushed. 

Again  we  must  admire  the  heroism  that  led 


MAKING   THE  MOST  OF  LIFE.  9 

this  brave  soldier  in  gray  so  utterly  to  forget 
himself  for  the  sake  of  doing  a  deed  of  mercy  to 
his  enemies.  There  is  more  grandeur  in  five 
minutes  of  such  self-renunciation  than  in  a 
whole  lifetime  of  self-interest  and  self-seeking. 
There  is  something  Christly  in  it.  How  poor, 
paltry,  and  mean,  alongside  the  records  of  such 
deeds,  appear  men's  selfish  strivings,  self- 
interests'  boldest  venturings  ! 

We  must  get  the  same  spirit  in  us  if  we 
would  become  in  any  large  and  true  sense  a 
blessing  to  the  world.  We  must  die  to  live. 
We  must  lose  our  life  to  save  it.  We  must  lay 
self  on  the  altar  to  be  consumed  in  the  fire  of 
love,  in  order  to  glorify  God  and  do  good  to 
men.  Our  work  may  be  fair,  even  though 
mingled  with  self ;  but  it  is  only  when  self  is 
sacrificed,  burned  on  the  altar  of  consecration, 
consumed  in  the  hot  flames  of  love,  that  our 
work  becomes  really  our  best,  a  fit  offering  to 
be  made  to  our  King. 

We  must  not  fear  that  in  such  sacrifice,  such 
renunciation  and  annihilation  of  self,  we  shall 
lose  ourselves.     God  will  remember  every  deed 


lO  MAKING    THE  MOST   OF  LIFE. 

of  love,  every  forgetting  of  self,  every  empty- 
ing out  of  life.  Though  we  work  in  obscurest 
places,  where  no  human  tongue  shall  ever  voice 
our  praise,  still  there  is  a  record  kept,  and  some 
day  rich  and  glorious  reward  will  be  given.  Is 
not  God's  praise  better  than  man's } 

*'Ungathered  beauties  of  a  bounteous  earth, 

Wild  flowers  which  grow  on  mountain-paths  untrod. 
White  water-lilies  looking  up  to  God 

From  solitary  tarns  —  and  human  worth 

Doing  meek  duty  that  no  glory  gains, 
Heroic  souls  in  secret  places  sown, 
To  live,  to  suffer,  and  to  die  unknown  — 

Are  not  that  loveliness  and  all  these  pains 

Wasted?    Alas,  then  does  it  not  suffice 
That  God  is  on  the  mountain,  by  the  lake, 
And  in  each  simple  duty,  for  whose  sake 

His  children  give  their  very  blood  as  price? 

The  Father  sees.     If  this  does  not  repay, 

What  else?    For  plucked  flowers  fade  and  praises  slay." 

Mary's  ointment  was  wasted  when  she  broke 
the  vase  and  poured  it  upon  her  Lord.  Yes ; 
but  suppose  she  had  left  the  ointment  in  the 
unbroken  vase?  What  remembrance  would  it 
then  have  had }    Would  there  have  been  any 


MAKING    THE  MOST  OF  LIFE.  1 1 

mention  of  it  on  the  Gospel  pages  ?  Would  her 
deed  of  careful  keeping  have  been  told  over  all 
the  world  ?  She  broke  the  vase  and  poured  it 
out,  lost  it,  sacrificed  it,  and  now  the  perfume 
fills  all  the  earth.  We  may  keep  our  life  if  we 
will,  carefully  preserving  it  from  waste  ;  but  we 
shall  have  no  reward,  no  honor  from  it,  at  the 
last.  But  if  we  empty  it  out  in  loving  service, 
we  shall  make  it  a  lasting  blessing  to  the  world, 
and  we  shall  be  remembered  forever. 


CHAPTER   11. 

LAID   ON  GOD'S   ALTAR. 

"My  life  is  not  my  own,  but  Christ's,  who  gave  it, 
And  he  bestows  it  upon  all  the  race ; 
I  lose  it  for  his  sake,  and  thus  I  save  it; 
I  hold  it  close,  but  only  to  expend  it; 
Accept  it,  Lord,  for  others,  through  thy  grace." 

We  have  to  die  to  live.  That  is  the  central 
law  of  life.  We  must  burn  to  give  light  to  the 
world,  or  to  give  forth  odor  of  incense  to  God's 
praise.  We  cannot  save  ourselves  and  at  the 
same  time  make  anything  worthy  of  our  life,  or 
be  in  any  deep  and  true  sense  an  honor  to  God 
and  a  blessing  to  the  world.  The  altar  stands 
in  the  foreground  of  every  life,  and  can  be 
passed  by  only  at  the  cost  of  all  that  is  noblest 
and  best. 

All  the  practical  side  of  religion  is  summed 
up  in  the  exhortation  of  St.  Paul,  that  we  pre- 
sent our  bodies  a  living  sacrifice  to  God. 
12 


LAID   ON  GOD'S  ALTAR.  1 3 

Anciently,  a  man  brought  a  lamb  and  pre- 
sented it  to  God,  laid  it  on  the  altar,  to  be 
consumed  by  God's  fire.  In  like  manner,  we 
are  to  present  our  bodies.  The  first  thing  is 
not  to  be  a  worker,  a  preacher,  a  saver  of 
souls ;  the  very  first  thing  in  a  Christian  life 
is  to  present  one's  self  to  God,  to  lay  one's 
self  on  the  altar.  We  need  to  understand  this. 
It  is  easier  to  talk  and  work  for  Christ  than  to 
give  ourselves  to  him.  It  is  easier  to  offer 
God  a  few  activities  than  to  give  him  a  heart. 
But  the  heart  must  be  first,  else  even  the 
largest  gifts  and  services  are  not  acceptable. 

"  'Tis  not  thy  work  the  Master  needs,  but  thee,  — 
The  obedient  spirit,  the  believing  heart." 

*'A  living  sacrifice."  A  sacrifice  is  some- 
thing really  given  to  God,  to  be  his  altogether 
and  forever.  We  cannot  take  it  back  any  more. 
One  could  not  lay  a  lamb  on  God's  altar  and 
then  a  minute  or  two  afterward  run  up  and  take 
it  off.  We  cannot  be  God's  to-day  and  our  own 
to-morrow.  If  we  become  his  at  all,  in  a  sacri- 
fice which  he  accepts,  we  are  his  always. 


14  LAID    ON  GOD'S  ALTAR, 

How  can  we  present  ourselves  as  a  sacrifice 
to  God  ?  By  the  complete  surrender  of  our 
heart  and  will  and  all  our  powers  to  him. 
Absolute  obedience  is  consecration.  The 
soldier  learns  it.  He  is  not  his  own.  He 
does  not  think  for  himself,  to  make  his  own 
plans ;  he  has  but  one  duty  —  to  obey.  Pay- 
son  used  to  talk  of  his  "lost  will" — lost  in 
God's  will,  he  meant.  That  is  what  presenting 
one's  self  a  sacrifice  means. 

It  is  a  "living"  sacrifice.  Anciently,  the 
sacrifices  were  killed ;  they  were  laid  dead  on 
the  altar.  We  are  to  present  ourselves  living. 
The  fire  consumed  the  ancient  offering ;  the 
fire  of  God's  love  and  of  his  Spirit  consumes 
our  lives  by  purifying  them  and  filling  them 
with  divine  life.  Those  on  whom  the  fire  fell 
on  the  day  of  Pentecost  became  new  men. 
There  was  a  new  life  in  their  souls,  a  new 
ardor,  a  new  enthusiasm.  They  were  on  fire 
with  love  for  Christ.  They  entered  upon  a 
service  in  which  all  their  energies  flamed. 

The  living  sacrifice  includes  all  the  life, — 
not  what  it  is  now  only,  but  all  that  it  may 


LAID   ON   GOD'S  ALTAR,  1 5 

become.  Life  is  not  a  diamond,  but  a  seed, 
with  possibilities  of  endless  growth.  Dr.  Ly- 
man Abbott  has  used  this  illustration :  *'  I 
pluck  an  acorn  from  the  greensward,  and  hold 
it  to  my  ear ;  and  this  is  what  it  says  to  me : 
*  By  and  by  the  birds  will  come  and  nest  in  me. 
By  and  by  I  will  furnish  shade  for  the  cattle. 
By  and  by  I  will  provide  warmth  for  the  home 
in  the  pleasant  fire.  By  and  by  I  will  be 
shelter  from  the  storm  to  those  who  have  gone 
under  the  roof.  By  and  by  I  will  be  the  strong 
ribs  of  the  great  vessel,  and  the  tempest  will 
beat  against  me  in  vain,  while  I  carry  men 
across  the  Atlantic*  *0  foolish  little  acorn, 
wilt  thou  be  all  this  } '  I  ask.  And  the  acorn 
answers,  '  Yes  ;  God  and  L*  " 

I  look  into  the  faces  of  a  company  of  chil- 
dren, and  I  hear  a  whisper,  saying :  "  By  and 
by  I  will  be  a  great  blessing  to  many.  By 
and  by  other  lives  will  come  and  find  nest  and 
home  in  me.  By  and  by  the  weary  will  sit  in 
the  shadow  of  my  strength.  By  and  by  I  will 
sit  as  comforter  in  a  home  of  sorrow.  By  and 
by  I  will  speak  the  words  of  Christ's  salvation 


1 6  LAID  ON  GOD'S  ALTAR. 

in  ears  of  lost  ones.  By  and  by  I  will  shine  in 
the  full  radiancy  of  the  beauty  of  Christ,  and 
be  among  the  glorified  with  my  Redeemer." 
"  You,  frail,  powerless,  little  one  t  "  I  ask ;  and 
the  answer  is,  *'Yes;  Christ  and  I."  And  all 
these  blessed  possibilities  that  are  in  the  life 
of  the  young  person  must  go  upon  the  altar  in 
the  living  sacrifice. 

Take  another  view  of  it.  Some  people  seem 
to  suppose  that  only  spiritual  exercises  are 
included  in  this  living  sacrifice ;  that  it  does 
not  cover  their  business,  their  social  life,  their 
amusements.  But  it  really  embraces  the  whole 
of  life.  We  belong  to  God  as  truly  on  Monday 
as  on  the  Lord's  Day.  We  must  keep  our- 
selves laid  on  God's  altar  as  really  while  we 
are  at  our  week-day  work  as  when  we  are  in  a 
prayer-meeting.  We  are  always  on  duty  as 
Christians,  whether  we  are  engaged  in  our 
secular  pursuits  or  in  exercises  of  devotion. 
All  our  work  should  therefore  be  done  rever- 
ently, "as  unto  the  Lord." 

We  should  do  everything  also  for  God's  eye 
and  according  to  the   principles   of   righteous- 


LAID    ON  GOD'S   ALTAR.  17 

ness.  The  consecrated  mechanic  must  put 
absolute  truth  into  every  piece  of  work  he 
does.  The  consecrated  business  man  must 
conduct  his  business  on  the  principles  of  divine 
righteousness.  The  consecrated  millionaire 
must  get  his  money  on  God's  altar,  so  that 
every  dollar  of  it  shall  do  business  for  God, 
blessing  the  world.  The  consecrated  house- 
keeper must  keep  her  home  so  sweet  and  so 
tidy  and  beautiful  all  the  days,  that  she  would 
never  be  ashamed  for  her  Master  to  come  in 
without  warning  to  be  her  guest.  That  is, 
when  we  present  ourselves  to  God  as  a  living 
sacrifice,  we  are  to  be  God's  in  every  part  and 
in  every  phase  of  our  life,  wherever  we  go, 
whatever  we  do. 

"  I  cannot  be  of  any  use,"  says  one.  "  I  can- 
not talk  in  meetings.  I  cannot  pray  in  public. 
I  have  no  gift  for  visiting  the  sick.  There  is 
nothing  I  can  do  for  Christ," 

Well,  if  Christian  service  were  all  talking  and 
praying  in  meetings,  and  visiting  the  sick,  it 
would  be  discouraging  to  such  talentless  people. 
But  are  our  tongues  the  only  faculties  we  can 


1 8  LAID    ON  GOD'S  ALTAR. 

use  for  Christ  ?  There  are  ways  in  which  even 
silent  people  can  belong  to  God  and  be  a  bless- 
ing in  the  world.  A  star  does  not  talk,  but  its 
calm,  steady  beam  shines  down  continually  out 
of  the  sky,  and  is  a  benediction  to  many.  A 
flower  cannot  sing  bird-songs,  but  its  sweet 
beauty  and  gentle  fragrance  make  it  a  blessing 
wherever  it  is  seen.  Be  like  a  star  in  your 
peaceful  shining,  and  many  will  thank  God  for 
your  life.  Be  like  the  flower  in  your  pure 
beauty  and  in  the  influence  of  your  unselfish 
spirit,  and  you  may  do  more  to  bless  the  world 
than  many  who  talk  incessantly.  The  living 
sacrifice  does  not  always  mean  active  work.  It 
may  mean  the  patient  endurance  of  a  wrong,  the 
quiet  bearing  of  a  pain,  cheerful  acquiescence 
in  a  disappointment. 

*' Noble  deeds  are  held  in  honor; 
But  the  wide  world  sadly  needs 
Hearts  of  patience  to  unravel 
The  worth  of  common  deeds." 

There  are  some  people  who  think  it  impossi- 
ble in  their  narrow  sphere  and  in  their  uncon- 


LAID   ON  GOD'S  ALTAR.  1 9 

genial  circumstances  to  live  so  as  to  win  God's 
favor  or  be  blessings  in  the  world.  But  there 
is  no  doubt  that  many  of  the  most  beautiful 
lives  of  earth,  in  Heaven's  sight,  are  those  that 
are  lived  in  what  seem  the  most  unfavorable 
conditions.  A  visitor  to  Amsterdam  wished  to 
hear  the  wonderful  music  of  the  chimes  of  St. 
Nicholas,  and  went  up  into  the  tower  of  the 
church  to  hear  it.  There  he  found  a  man  with 
wooden  gloves  on  his  hands,  pounding  on  a 
keyboard.  All  he  could  hear  was  the  clanging 
of  the  keys  when  struck  by  the  wooden  gloves, 
and  the  harsh,  deafening  noise  of  the  bells 
close  over  his  head.  He  wondered  why  people 
talked  of  the  marvellous  chimes  of  St.  Nicholas. 
To  his  ear  there  was  no  music  in  them,  noth- 
ing but  terrible  clatter  and  clanging.  Yet,  all 
the  while,  there  floated  out  over  and  beyond  the 
city  the  most  entrancing  music.  Men  in  the 
fields  paused  in  their  work  to  listen  and  were 
made  glad.  People  in  their  homes  and  trav- 
ellers on  the  highways  were  thrilled  by  the 
marvellous  bell-notes  that  fell  from  the  chimes. 
There   are  many  lives  which  to  those  who 


20  LAID   ON  GOD'S  ALTAR, 

dwell  close  beside  them  seem  to  make  no 
music.  They  pour  out  their  strength  in  hard 
toil.  They  are  shut  up  in  narrow  spheres. 
They  dwell  amid  the  noise  and  clatter  of  com- 
mon task-work.  They  appear  to  be  only  strik- 
ing wooden  hammers  on  rattling,  noisy  keys. 
There  can  be  nothing  pleasing  to  God  in  their 
life,  men  would  say.  They  think  themselves 
that  they  are  not  of  any  use,  that  no  blessing 
goes  out  from  their  life.  They  never  dream 
that  sweet  music  is  made  anywhere  in  the 
world  by  their  noisy  hammering.  As  the  bell- 
chimer  in  his  little  tower  hears  no  music  from 
his  own  ringing  of  the  bells,  so  they  think  of 
their  hard  toil  as  producing  nothing  but  clatter 
and  clangor ;  but  out  over  the  world  where  the 
influence  goes  from  their  work  and  character, 
human  lives  are  blessed,  and  weary  ones  hear 
with  gladness  sweet,  comforting  music.  Then 
away  off  in  heaven,  where  angels  listen  for 
earth's  melody,  most  entrancing  strains  are 
heard. 

No   doubt  it  will  be  seen  at  the   last   that 
many  of  earth's  most  acceptable  living  sacri- 


LAID    ON  GOD'S  ALTAR,  21 

fices  have  been  laid  on  the  altar  in  the  nar- 
rowest spheres  and  in  the  midst  of  the  hardest 
conditions.  What  to  the  ears  of  close  listeners 
is  only  the  noise  of  painful  toil  is  heard  in 
heaven  as  music  sweet  as  angels'  song. 

The  living  sacrifice  is  "acceptable  unto  God." 
It  ought  to  be  a  wondrous  inspiration  to  know 
this,  that  even  the  lowliest  things  we  do  for 
Christ  are  pleasing  to  him.  We  ought  to  be 
able  to  do  better,  truer  work,  when  we  think  of 
his  gracious  acceptance  of  it.  It  is  told  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  that  while  still  a  pupil,  be- 
fore his  genius  burst  into  brilliancy,  he  received 
a  special  inspiration  in  this  way :  His  old  and 
famous  master,  because  of  his  growing  infirmi- 
ties of  age,  felt  obliged  to  give  up  his  own  work, 
and  one  day  bade  Da  Vinci  finish  for  him  a  pic- 
ture which  he  had  begun.  The  young  man  had 
such  a  reverence  for  his  master's  skill  that  he 
shrank  from  the  task.  The  old  artist,  however, 
would  not  accept  any  excuse,  but  persisted  in 
his  command,  saying  simply,  "  Do  your  best." 

Da  Vinci  at  last  tremblingly  seized  the  brush 
and  kneeling  before  the  easel  prayed:  "It  is  for 


22  LAID   ON  GOD'S  ALTAR. 

the  sake  of  my  beloved  master  that  I  implore 
skill  and  power  for  this  undertaking."  As  he 
proceeded,  his  hand  grew  steady,  his  eye  awoke 
with  slumbering  genius.  He  forgot  himself  and 
was  filled  with  enthusiasm  for  his  work.  When 
the  painting  was  finished,  the  old  master  was 
carried  into  the  studio  to  pass  judgment  on  the 
result.  His  eye  rested  on  a  triumph  of  art. 
Throwing  his  arms  about  the  young  artist,  he 
exclaimed,  "  My  son,  I  paint  no  more." 

There  are  some  who  shrink  from  undertaking 
the  work  which  the  Master  gives  them  to  do. 
They  are  not  worthy ;  they  have  no  skill  or 
power  for  the  delicate  duty.  But  to  all  their 
timid  shrinking  and  withdrawing,  the  Master's 
gentle  yet  urgent  word  is,  "Do  your  best." 
They  have  only  to  kneel  in  lowly  reverence  and 
pray,  for  the  beloved  Master's  sake,  for  skill  and 
strength  for  the  task  assigned,  and  they  will  be 
inspired  and  helped  to  do  it  well.  The  power  of 
Christ  will  rest  upon  them  and  the  love  of 
Christ  will  be  in  their  heart.  And  all  work 
done  under  this  blessed  inspiration  will  be  ac- 
ceptable unto  God.     We  have  but  truly  to  lay 


LAID   ON  GOD'S  ALTAR.  23 

the  living  sacrifice  on  the  altar ;  then  God  will 
send  the  fire. 

We  need  to  get  this  matter  of  consecration 
down  out  of  cloud-land  into  the  region  of  actual, 
common  daily  living.  We  sing  about  it  and 
pray  for  it  and  talk  of  it  in  our  religious  meet- 
ings, ofttimes  in  glowing  mood,  as  if  it  were 
some  exalted  state  with  which  earth's  life  of 
toil,  struggle,  and  care  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do.  But  the  consecration  suggested  by  the  liv- 
ing sacrifice  is  one  that  walks  on  the  earth,  that 
meets  life's  actual  duties,  struggles,  temptations, 
and  sorrows,  and  that  falters  not  in  obedience, 
fidelity,  or  submission,  but  follows  Christ  with 
love  and  joy  wherever  he  leads.  No  other  con- 
secration pleases  God. 


CHAPTER   III. 

CHRIST'S  INTEREST  IN  OUR  COMMON  LIFE. 

"  So  still,  dear  Lord,  in  every  place 

Thou  standest  by  the  toiling  folk 
With  love  and  pity  in  thy  face, 
And  givest  of  thy  help  and  grace 

To  those  who  meekly  bear  the  yoke." 

One  of  our  Lord's  after-resurrection  appear- 
ances vividly  pictures  his  loving  interest  in  our 
common  toil.  While  waiting  for  him  to  come 
to  Galilee,  the  disciples  had  gone  back  for  a 
time  to  their  old  work  of  fishing.  They  were 
poor  men,  and  this  was  probably  necessary  in 
order  to  provide  for  their  own  subsistence. 
Thus  fishing  was  the  duty  that  lay  nearest. 
Yet  it  must  have  been  dreary  work  for  them 
after  the  exalted  privileges  they  had  enjoyed  so 
long.  Think  what  the  last  three  years  had 
been  to  these  men.  Jesus  had  taken  them  into 
the  most  intimate  fellowship  with  himself  — 
24 


CHRIST'S  INTEREST. 


25 


into  closest  confidential  friendship.  They  had 
listened  to  his  wonderful  words,  seen  his  gra- 
cious acts,  and  witnessed  his  sweet  life.  Think 
what  a  privilege  it  was  to  live  thus  with  Jesus 
those  beautiful  years ;  what  glimpses  of  heaven 
they  had  ;  what  visions  of  radiant  life  shone  be- 
fore them. 

But  now  this  precious  experience  was  ended. 
The  lovely  dream  had  vanished.  They  were 
back  again  at  their  old  work.  How  dreary  it 
must  have  been — this  tiresome  handling  of 
oars  and  boats  and  fishing-nets,  after  their  years 
of  exalted  life  with  their  Master!  But  it  is  a 
precious  thought  to  us  that  just  at  this  time, 
when  they  were  in  the  midst  of  the  dull  and 
wearisome  work,  and  when  they  were  sadly  dis- 
couraged, Christ  appeared  to  them.  It  showed 
his  interest  •  in  their  work,  his  sympathy  with 
them  in  their  discouragement,  and  his  readiness 
to  help  them. 

Then  the  revealings  of  his  appearance  that 
morning  are  for  all  his  friends  and  for  all  time. 
We  know  now  that  our  risen  Saviour  is  inter- 
ested in  whatever  we  have  to  do,  and  is  ready 


26  CHRIST'S  INTEREST 

to  help  us  in  all  our  dull,  common  life.  He  will 
come  to  his  people,  not  in  the  church  service, 
the  prayer-meeting,  the  Holy  Supper  only,  but 
is  quite  as  apt  to  reveal  himself  to  them  in  the 
task-work  of  the  plainest,  dullest  day.  Susan 
Coolidge  writes  :  — 

"  That  thy  full  glory  may  abound,  increase, 
And  so  thy  likeness  shall  be  formed  in  me, 

I  pray  ;  the  answer  is  not  rest  or  peace, 

But  changes,  duties,  wants,  anxieties, 

Till  there  seems  room  for  everything  but  thee, 

And  never  time  for  anything  but  these. 

"And  I  should  fear,  but  lo !  amid  the  press, 
The  whirl  and  hum  and  pressure  of  my  day, 
I  hear  thy  garments  sweep,  thy  seamless  dress, 
And  close  beside  my  work  and  weariness 

Discern  thy  gracious  form,  not  far  away, 
But  very  near,  O  Lord,  to  help  and  bless. 

"  The  busy  fingers  fly ;  the  eyes  may  see 

Only  the  glancing  needle  which  they  hold ; 

But  all  my  life  is  blossoming  inwardly. 

And  every  breath  is  like  a  litany ; 

While  through  each  labor,  like  a  thread  of  gold, 

Is  woven  the  sweet  consciousness  of  thee." 


IN  OUR  COMMON  LIFE.  27 

There  are  duties  in  every  life  that  are  irk- 
some. Young  people  sometimes  find  school 
work  dull.  There  are  faithful  mothers  who 
many  a  day  grow  weary  of  the  endless  duties  of 
the  household.  There  are  good  men  who  tire 
ofttimes  of  the  routine  of  office,  or  store,  or 
mill,  or  farm.  There  comes  to  most  of  us,  at 
times,  the  feeling  that  what  we  have  to  do  day 
after  day  is  not  worthy  of  us.  We  have  had 
glimpses,  or  brief  experiences,  of  life  in  its 
higher  revealings.  It  may  have  been  a  compan- 
ionship for  a  season  with  one  above  us  in  expe- 
rience or  attainment,  that  has  lifted  us  up  for  a 
little  time  into  exalted  thoughts  and  feelings, 
after  which  it  is  hard  to  come  back  again  to  the 
old  plodding  round,  and  to  the  old,  uninterest- 
.]ing  companionships.  It  may  have  been  a  visit 
to  some  place  or  to  some  home,  with  opportuni- 
ties, refinements,  inspirations,  privileges,  above 
those  which  we  can  have  in  our  own  narrower 
surroundings  and  plainer  home  and  less  con- 
genial intimacies. 

Or  our  circumstances  may  have  been  rudely 
changed  by  some  providence  that  has  broken  in 


28  CHRIST'S  INTEREST 

upon  our  happy  life.  It  may  have  been  a  death 
that  cut  off  the  income,  or  a  reverse  in  business 
that  swept  away  a  fortune,  and  luxury  and  ease 
and  the  material  refinements  and  elegances  of 
wealth  have  to  be  exchanged  for  toil  and  plain 
circumstances  and  a  humbler  home.  There  are 
few  sorer  tests  of  character  than  such  changes 
as  these  bring  with  them.  The  first  thought 
always  is  :  *'  How  can  I  go  to  this  dreary  life, 
these  hard  tasks,  this  painful  drudgery,  this 
weary  plodding,  after  having  enjoyed  so  long 
the  comforts  and  refinements  of  my  old  happy 
state.?" 

In  such  cases  immeasurable  comfort  may  be 
found  in  this  appearance  of  the  risen  Christ 
that  morning  on  the  shore.  The  disciples  took 
up  their  dull  old  work  because  it  was  necessary, 
and  was  their  plain  duty  for  the  time ;  and 
there  was  Jesus  waiting  to  greet  them  and 
bless  them.  Accept  your  hard  tasks,  and  do 
them  cheerfully,  no  matter  how  irksome  they 
appear,  and  Christ  will  reveal  himself  to  you 
in  them.  Be  sure  that  he  will  never  come  to 
you  when  you  are   avoiding   any  tasks,   when 


IN  OUR    COMMON  LIFE. 


29 


you  are  withholding  your  hand  from  any  duty, 
or  when  you  are  fretting  and  discontented  over 
any  circumstances  or  conditions  of  your  lot. 
There  are  no  visions  of  the  Christ  for  idle 
dreamers  or  for  unhapppy  shirkers. 

Suppose  you  have  come  back,  like  the  dis- 
ciples, from  times  of  privilege  and  exaltation, 
and  find  yourself  face  to  face  once  more  with 
an  old  life  which  seems  now  unworthy  of  you ; 
yet  for  the  time  your  duty  is  clear,  and  if  you 
would  have  a  vision  of  Christ,  you  must  take 
up  the  duty  with  gladness.  Suppose  that 
your  home-life  is  narrow,  humdrum,  unpoetic, 
uncongenial,  even  cold  and  unkindly ;  yet  there 
for  the  time  is  your  place,  and  there  are  your 
duties.  And  right  in  this  sphere,  narrow 
though  it  seem,  there  is  room  for  holiest 
visions  of  Christ  and  for  the  richest  revealings 
of  his  grace  and  blessing. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Jesus  himself, 
after  his  glimpse  of  higher  things  in  the  temple, 
went  back  to  the  lowly  peasant  home  at  Naz- 
areth, and  there  for  eighteen  years  more  found 
scope    enough    for    the    development    of    the 


50 


CHRIST'S  INTEREST 


richest  nature  this  world  ever  saw,  and  for  the 
fullest  and  completest  doing  of  duty  ever 
wrought  beneath  the  skies.  Whatever,  then, 
may  be  our  shrinking  from  dull  tasks,  our  dis- 
taste for  dreary  duty,  our  discontent  with  a 
narrow  place  and  with  limiting  circumstances, 
we  should  go  promptly  to  the  work  that  God 
assigns,  and  accept  the  conditions  that  lie  in 
the  lot  which  he  appoints.  And  in  our  hardest 
toil,  our  most  irksome  tasks,  our  lowliest  duties, 
our  dreariest  and  most  uncongenial  surround- 
ings, we  shall  have  but  to  lift  up  our  eyes  to 
see  the  blessed  form  of  Christ  standing  before 
us,  with  cheer,  sympathy,  and  encouragement 
for  us. 

There  is  more  of  the  lesson.  Not  only  did 
Christ  reveal  himself  to  these  disciples  while 
at  their  lowly  work,  but  he  helped  them  in  it. 
He  told  them  where  to  cast  their  net,  and 
turned  their  failure  to  success.  We  think  of 
Christ  as  helping  us  to  endure  temptation,  to 
bear  trial,  to  overcome  sin,  to  do  spiritual 
duties,  but  we  sometimes  forget  that  he  is 
just  as  ready  to  help  us  in  our  common  work. 


IN  OUR   COMMON  LIFE,  3 1 

That  morning  he  helped  the  disciples  in  their 
fishing.  He  will  help  us  in  our  trade  or  busi- 
ness, or  in  whatever  work  we  have  to  do. 

We  all  have  our  discouraged  days,  when 
things  do  not  go  well.  The  young  people  fail 
in  their  lessons  at  school,  although  they  have 
studied  hard,  and  really  have  done  their  best. 
Or  the  mothers  fail  in  their  household  work. 
The  children  are  hard  to  control.  It  has  been 
impossible  to  keep  good  temper,  to  maintain 
that  sweetness  and  lovingness  that  are  so  es- 
sential to  a  happy  day.  They  try  to  be  gentle, 
kindly,  and  patient,  but,  try  as  they  will,  their 
minds  become  ruffled  and  fretted  with  cares. 
They  come  to  the  close  of  the  long,  unhappy 
hours  disturbed,  defeated,  discouraged.  They 
have  done  their  best,  but  they  feel  that  they 
have  only  failed.  They  fall  upon  their  knees, 
but  they  have  only  tears  for  a  prayer.  Yet 
if  they  will  lift  up  their  eyes,  they  will  see  on 
the  shore  of  the  troubled  sea  of  their  little  day's 
life  the  form  of  One  whose  presence  will  give 
them  strength  and  confidence,  and  who  will 
help  them  to  victoriousness.     Before  his  sweet 


32  CHRIST'S  INTEREST 

smile  the  shadows  flee  away.  At  his  word 
new  strength  is  given,  and,  after  that,  work  is 
easy,  and  all  goes  well  again. 

Men,  too,  in  their  busy  life,  are  continually 
called  to  struggle,  ofttimes  to  suffer.  Life  is 
not  easy  for  any  who  would  live  truly.  Work 
is  hard ;  burdens  are  heavy ;  responsibility  is 
great ;  trials  are  sore ;  duty  is  large.  Life's 
competitions  are  fierce  ;  its  rivalries  are  keen  ; 
its  frictions  sometimes  grind  men's  very  souls 
well  nigh  to  death.  It  is  hard  to  live  sweetly 
amid  the  irritations  that  touch  continually  at 
most  tender  points.  It  is  hard  to  live  lovingly 
and  charitably  when  they  see  so  much  inequity 
and  wrong,  and  sometimes  must  themselves 
endure  men's  uncharity  and  injustice.  It  is 
hard  to  toil  and  never  rest,  earning  even  then 
scarce  enough  to  feed  and  clothe  those  who  are 
dependent  on  them  for  care.  It  is  hard  to 
meet  temptation's  fierce  assaults,  and  keep 
themselves  pure,  unspotted  from  the  world, 
ready  for  heaven  any  hour  the  Lord  may 
come. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  men  are  sometimes  dis- 


IN  OUR    COMMON  LIFE.  33 

couraged  and  lose  heart.  They  are  Uke  those 
weary  disciples  that  spring  morning  on  the  Sea 
of  Galilee,  after  they  had  toiled  all  night  and 
had  taken  nothing.  But  let  us  not  forget  the 
vision  that  awaited  these  disciples  with  the 
coming  of  the  dawn  —  the  risen  Jesus  standing 
on  the  shore  with  his  salutation  of  love  and  his 
strong  help  that  instantly  turned  failure  into 
blessing.  So  over  against  every  tempted,  strug- 
gling, toiling  life  of  Christian  disciple,  Christ  is 
ever  standing,  ready  to  give  victory  and  to  guide 
to  highest  good. 

Life  would  be  easier  for  us  all  if  we  could 
realize  the  presence  and  actual  help  of  Christ  in 
all  our  experiences.  We  need  to  care  for  only 
one  thing  —  that  we  may  be  faithful  always  to 
duty,  and  loyal  to  our  Master.  Then,  the  duller 
the  round  and  the  sorer  the  struggle,  the  surer 
we  shall  ever  be  of  Christ's  smile  and  help.  We 
may  glory  in  infirmities,  because  then  the  power 
of  God  rests  upon  us. 

It  is  not  ordinarily  in  the  easy  ways,  in  the 
luxurious  surroundings,  in  the  paths  of  worldly 
honor,  in  the  congenial  lot,  that  the  brightest 


34  CHRIST'S  INTEREST. 

heavenly  visions  are  seen.  There  have  been 
more  blessed  revealings  of  Christ  in  prisons 
than  in  palaces,  in  homes  of  poverty  than  in 
homes  of  abundance,  in  ways  of  hardship  than 
in  ways  of  ease.  We  need  only  to  accept  our 
task-work,  our  drudgery,  our  toil,  in  Christ's 
name,  and  the  glory  of  Christ  will  transfigure  it 
and  shine  upon  our  faces. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF   PRAYER. 

"  Ask  and  receive  —  'tis  sweetly  said ; 
Yet  what  to  plead  for  know  I  not, 
For  wish  is  worsted,  hope  o'ersped, 
And  aye  to  thanks  returns  my  thought. 
If  I  would  pray 
I've  naught  to  say, 
But  this,  that  God  may  be  God  still : 
For  time  to  live 
So  still  to  give, 
And  sweeter  than  my  wish  his  will." 

—  David  A.  Wasson. 

We  do  not  begin  to  realize  the  possibilities  of 
prayer.  There  is  no  limit,  for  example,  to  the 
scope  of  prayer.  We  may  embrace  in  it  all 
things  that  belong  to  our  life,  not  merely  those 
which  affect  our  spiritual  interests,  but  those  as 
well  which  seem  to  be  only  worldly  matters. 
Nothing  that  concerns  us  in  any  way  is  matter 
of  indifference  to  God.  One  writes  :  "  Learn 
to  entwine  with  your  prayers  the  small  cares, 

35 


36  THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PR  A  YER. 

the  trifling  sorrows,  the  little  wants  of  daily  life. 
Whatever  affects  you,  — be  it  a  changed  look,  an 
altered  tone,  an  unkind  word,  a  wrong,  a  wound, 
a  demand  you  cannot  meet,  a  sorrow  you  cannot 
disclose,  —  turn  it  into  prayer  and  send  it  up  to 
God.  Disclosures  you  may  not  make  to  man, 
you  can  make  to  the  Lord.  Men  may  be  too 
little  for  your  great  matters ;  God  is  not  too 
great  for  your  small  ones.  Only  give  yourself 
to  prayer,  whatever  be  the  occasion  that  calls 
for  it." 

We  soon  find,  however,  if  we  are  really  ear- 
nest, that  our  desires  are  too  great  for  words. 
We  have  in  our  hearts  feelings,  hungerings, 
affections,  longings,  which  we  want  to  breathe 
out  to  God ;  but  when  we  begin  to  speak  to  him, 
we  find  no  language  adequate  for  their  expres- 
sion. We  try  to  tell  God  of  our  sorrow  for  sin, 
of  our  weakness  and  sinfulness,  then  of  our  de- 
sire to  be  better,  to  love  Christ  more,  to  follow 
him  more  closely,  and  of  our  hunger  after 
righteousness,  after  holiness ;  but  it  is  very  little 
of  these  deep  cravings  that  we  can  get  into 
speech. 


THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PRAYER.  37 

Language  is  a  wonderful  gift.  The  power  of 
putting  into  words  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  our  souls,  that  others  may  understand  them, 
is  one  of  the  most  marvellous  powers  the  Crea- 
tor has  bestowed  upon  us.  Thus  we  communi- 
cate our  feelings  and  desires  the  one  to  the 
other.  It  is  a  sore  deprivation  when  the  gates 
of  speech  are  shut  and  locked,  and  when  the 
soul  cannot  tell  its  thoughts. 

Yet  we  all  know,  unless  our  thoughts  and 
feelings  are  very  shallow  and  trivial,  that  even 
the  wonderful  faculty  of  language  is  inadequate 
to  express  all  that  the  soul  can  experience.  No 
true  orator  ever  finds  sentences  majestic  enough 
to  interpret  the  sentiments  that  burn  in  his 
soul.  Deep,  pure  love  is  never  able  to  put  into 
words  its  most  sacred  feelings  and  emotions.  It 
is  only  the  commonplace  of  the  inner  life  that 
can  be  uttered  in  even  the  finest  language. 
There  is  always  more  that  lies  back,  unex- 
pressed, than  is  spoken  in  any  words. 

It  is  specially  true  of  prayer  that  we  cannot 
utter  its  deepest  feelings  and  holiest  desires. 
We  have  comfort,  however,  in   the   assurance 


3S  THE  POSSIBILITIES   OP  PRAYER. 

that  God  can  hear  thoughts.  He  knows  what 
we  want  to  say  and  cannot  express.  Your  dear- 
est friend  may  stand  close  to  you  when  your 
mind  is  full  of  thoughts,  but  unless  you  speak 
or  give  some  sign,  he  cannot  know  one  of  your 
thoughts.  He  may  lay  his  ear  close  to  your 
heart,  and  he  will  hear  its  throbbings ;  but  he 
cannot  hear  your  feelings,  your  desires.  Yet 
God  knows  all  that  goes  on  in  your  soul.  Every 
thought  that  flies  through  your  brain  is  heard  in 
heaven. 

"O  Lord,  thou  hast  searched  me,  and  known  me. 
Thou  knowest  my  downsitting  and  mine  uprising, 
Thou  understandest  my  thought  afar  off. 
Thou  searchest  out  my  path  and  my  lying  down, 
And  art  acquainted  with  all  my  ways. 
For  there  is  not  a  word  in  my  tongue, 
But,  lo,  O  Lord,  thou  knowest  it  altogether." 

We  need  not  trouble  ourselves,  therefore,  if 
we  cannot  get  our  wishes  into  words  when  ive 
pray,  for  God  hears  wishes,  heart-longings,  soul 
hungerings  and  thirstings.  The  things  we  can- 
not say  in  speech  of  the  lips,  we  may  ask  God 
to  take  from  our  heart's  speech.     There  is  not 


THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PR  A  YER.  39 

the  feeblest,  faintest  glimmer  of  a  desire  rising 
on  the  far-away  horizon  of  our  being,  but  God 
sees  it.  There  is  not  a  heart-hunger,  not  a  wish 
to  be  holier  and  better,  not  an  aspiration  to  be 
more  Christ-like,  not  a  craving  to  live  for  God 
and  be  a  blessing  to  others,  not  the  faintest 
desire  to  be  rid  of  sin's  power,  but  God  knows 
of  it.  St.  Paul  has  a  wonderful  word  on  this 
subject :  God,  he  says,  "is  able  to  do  exceeding 
abundantly  above  all  that  we  ask  or  think." 
When  our  heart  is  stirred  to  its  depths,  what 
large,  great  things  can  we  ask  in  words  .'*  Then, 
how  much  can  we  put  into  thoughts  of  prayer, 
into  longings,  desires,  aspirations,  beyond  the 
possibilities  of  speech  }  God  can  do  more  than 
we  can  pray  either  in  words  or  thoughts. 

Our  truest  praying  is  that  which  we  cannot 
express  in  any  words,  our  heart's  unutterable 
longings,  when  we  sit  at  God's  feet  and  look  up 
into  his  face  and  do  not  speak  at  all,  but  let  our 
hearts  talk. 

"  Rather  as  friends  sit  sometimes  hand  in  hand, 
Nor  mar  with  words  the  sweet  speech  of  their  eyes ; 
So  in  soft  silence  let  us  oftener  bow, 


40  THE  POSSIBiLTTIES   OF  PR  A  YER. 

Nor  try  with  words  to  make  God  understand. 

Longing  is  prayer ;  upon  its  wings  we  rise 

To  where  the  breath  of  heaven  beats  upon  our  brow." 

Our  best,  truest  prayers  are  not  for  earthly 
things,  but  for  spiritual  blessings.  When  the 
objects  are  temporal,  we  do  not  know  what  we 
should  pray  for  —  what  would  be  really  a  bless- 
ing to  us.  You  are  a  loving  parent,  and  your 
child  is  very  ill.  It  seems  that  it  must  die. 
You  fall  upon  your  knees  before  God  to  pray, 
but  you  do  not  know  what  to  ask.  Your  break- 
ing heart  would  quickly  plead,  '*  Lord,  spare  my 
precious  child  "  ;  but  you  do  not  know  that  that 
is  best.  Perhaps  to  live  would  not  be  God's 
sweetest  gift  to  your  child,  or  to  you.  So,  not 
daring  to  choose,  you  can  only  say,  **  Lord  God, 
I  cannot  speak  more  ;  but  thou  knowest  thy 
child ;  thou  understandest  what  is  best." 

Or,  some  plan  of  yours,  which  you  have  long 
cherished,  seems  about  to  be  thwarted.  You 
go  to  God,  and  begin  to  pray ;  but  you  do  not 
know  what  to  ask.  You  can  only  say,  "  Lord,  I 
cannot  tell  what  is  best ;  but  thou  knowest." 
What    a   comfort    it   is   that   God  does  indeed 


THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PRAYER.  41 

know,  and  that  we  may  safely  leave  our  heart's 
burden  in  his  hand,  without  any  request  what- 
ever ! 

"  Lord,  I  had  chosen  another  lot, 
But  then  I  had  not  chosen  well ; 
Thy  choice,  and  truly  thine,  was  good ; 

No  different  lot,  search  heaven  or  hell, 
Had  blessed  me,  fully  understood, 
None  other  which  thou  orderest  not." 

We  can  do  little  more  than  this  in  any  re- 
quest for  temporal  things.  Says  Archdeacon 
Farrar :  "  There  are  two  things  to  remember 
about  prayers  for  earthly  things  :  One,  that  to 
ask  mainly  for  earthly  blessings  is  a  dreadful 
dwarfing  and  vulgarization  of  the  grandeur  of 
prayer,  as  though  you  asked  for  a  handful  of 
grass,  when  you  might  ask  for  a  handful  of  em- 
eralds ;  the  other  that  you  must  always  ask  for 
earthly  desires  with  absolute  submission  of 
your  own  will  to  God's."  So  silence  is  oft- 
times  the  best  and  truest  praying  —  bowing 
before  God  in  life's  great  crises  ;  but  saying 
nothing,  leaving  the  burden  in  God's  hand  with- 
out any  choosing.  We  are  always  safe  when 
we  let  God  guide  us  in  all  our  ways. 


42  THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PRAYER. 

*'  111  that  he  blesses  is  our  good, 
And  unblest  good  is  ili ; 
And  all  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong, 
If  it  be  his  sweet  will.'" 

Many  of  the  richest  possibilities  of  prayer  lie 
beyond  valleys  of  pain  and  sorrow.  The  best 
things  of  life  cannot  be  gotten  save  at  sore  cost. 
When  we  pray  for  more  holiness,  we  do  not 
know  what  we  are  asking  for ;  at  least  we  do 
not  know  the  price  we  must  pay  to  get  that 
which  we  ask.  Our  *'  Nearer,  my  God,  to 
thee,"  must  be  conditioned  by,  and  often  can 
come  only  through, 

"E'en  though  it  be  a  cross, 
That  raiseth  me." 

Not  only  are  the  spiritual  things  the  best 
things,  but  many  times  the  spiritual  things  can 
be  grasped  only  by  letting  go  and  losing  out  of 
our  hands  the  earthly  things  we  would  love  to 
keep.  God  loves  us  too  much  to  grant  our 
prayers  for  comfort  and  relief,  even  when  we 
make  them,  if  he  can  do  it  only  at  spiritual  loss 
to  us.     He  would  rather  let  it  be  hard  for  us 


THE  POSSIBILITIES   OF  PR  A  YER.  43 

to  live  if  there  is  blessing  in  the  hardness,  than 
make  it  easy  for  us  at  the  cost  of  the  blessing. 

There  are  certain  singing-birds  that  never 
learn  to  sing  until  their  cages  are  darkened. 
Would  it  be  true  kindness  to  keep  these  birds 
always  in  the  sunshine  ?  There  are  human 
hearts  that  never  learn  to  sing  the  song  of  faith 
and  peace  and  love,  until  they  enter  the  dark- 
ness of  trial.  Would  it  be  true  love  for  these 
if  God  would  hear  their  prayers  for  the  removal 
of  their  pain }  We  dare  not  plead,  therefore, 
save  with  utmost  diffidence  and  submission, 
that  God  would  remove  the  cross  of  suffering. 

•'  Thou  canst  not  tell 
How  rich  a  dowry  sorrow  gives  the  soul. 
How  firm  a  faith  and  eagle-sight  of  God." 

Does  God  answer  prayers  .-*  "  I  have  been 
praying  for  one  thing  for  years,"  says  one,  "and 
it  has  not  come  yet."  God  has  many  ways  of 
answering.  Sometimes  he  delays  that  he  may 
give  a  better,  fuller  answer.  A  poor  woman 
stood  at  a  vineyard  gate,  and  looked  over  into 
the  vineyard.     "■  Would  you  like  some  grapes  ?  " 


44  THE  POSSIBILITIES  OF  PR  A  YER. 

asked  the  proprietor,  who  was  within.  "  I 
should  be  very  thankful,"  replied  the  woman. 
"Then  bring  yonr  basket."  Quickly  the  basket 
was  brought  to  the  gate  and  passed  in.  The 
owner  took  it  and  was  gone  a  long  time  among 
the  vines,  till  the  woman  became  discouraged, 
thinking  he  was  not  coming  again.  At  last  he 
returned  with  the  basket  heaped  full.  **  I  have 
made  you  wait  a  good  while,"  he  said,  "but  you 
know  the  longer  you  have  to  wait,  the  better 
grapes  and  the  more." 

So  it  sometimes  is  in  prayer.  We  bring  our 
empty  vessel  to  God  and  pass  it  over  the  gate 
of  prayer  to  him.  He  seems  to  be  delaying  a 
long  time,  and  sometimes  faith  faints  with  wait- 
ing. But  at  last  he  comes,  and  our  basket  is 
heaped  full  with  luscious  blessings.  He  waited 
long  that  he  might  bring  us  a  better  and  a 
fuller  answer.  At  least  we  are  sure  that  no 
true  prayer  ever  really  goes  unanswered.  We 
have  to  wait  for  the  fruits  to  ripen,  and  that 
takes  time. 

Then  sometimes  God  delays  until  some  work 
\n   us   is   finished,   some   preparation  which   is 


THE   POSSIBILITIES   OF  PRAYER. 


45 


needed  before  the  best  answer  can  be  received. 
The  following  words  are  suggestive  : 

'*  Unanswered  yet,  the  prayer  your  lips  have  pleaded 

In  agony  of  heart  these  many  years  ? 
Does  faith  begin  to  fail  ?     Is  hope  departing, 

And  think  you  all  in  vain  those  falling  tears? 
Say  not  the  Father  hath  not  heard  your  prayer ; 
You  shall  have  your  desire  sometime,  somewhere. 

"  Unanswered  yet,  though  when  you  first  presented 
This  one  petition  at  the  Father's  throne, 

It  seemed  you  could  not  wait  the  time  of  asking, 
So  urgent  was  your  heart  to  have  it  known  ? 

Though  years  have  passed  since  then,  do  not  despair ; 

The  Lord  will  answer  you  sometime,  somewhere. 

"  Unanswered  yet  ?    Nay,  do  not  say  ungranted ; 
Perhaps  your  part  is  not  yet  wholly  done  ; 
The  work  began  when  first  your  prayer  was  uttered, 

And  God  will  finish  what  he  has  begun. 
If  you  will  keep  the  incense  burning  there, 
His  glory  you  will  see  sometime,  somewhere. 

"  Unanswered  yet  ?    Faith  cannot  be  unanswered. 

Her  feet  are  firmly  planted  on  the  rock  ; 
Amid  the  wildest  storms  she  stands  undaunted, 

Nor  quails  before  the  loudest  thunder  shock. 
She  knows  Omnipotence  has  heard  her  prayer, 
And  cries,  It  shall  be  done  —  sometime,  somewhere." 


CHAPTER  V. 

GETTING   CHRIST'S   TOUCH. 

"This  is  life  —  to  pour  out  love  unstinted; 
Good  and  evil,  sunlike,  blesseth  he ; 
Through  your  finite  is  his  infinite  hinted  — 
Children  of  your  Father  must  ye  be." 

—  Lucy  Larcom. 

There  was  wonderful  power  in  the  touch  of 
Christ  when  he  was  on  the  earth.  Wherever 
he  laid  his  hand,  he  left  a  blessing,  and  sick, 
sad,  and  weary  ones  received  health,  comfort, 
and  peace.  That  hand,  glorified,  now  holds 
in  its  clasp  the  seven  stars.  Yet  there  are 
senses  in  which  the  blessed  touch  of  Christ  is 
felt  yet  on  men's  lives.  He  is  as  really  in  this 
world  to-day  as  he  was  when  he  walked  in 
human  form  through  Judea  and  Galilee.  His 
hand  is  yet  laid  on  the  weary,  the  suffering, 
the  sorrowing,  and,  though  its  pressure  is  un- 
felt,  its  power  to  bless  is  the  same  as  in  the 
46 


GETTING    CHRIST'S    TOUCH.  47 

ancient  days.  It  is  laid  on  the  sick,  when 
precious  heavenly  words  of  cheer  and  en- 
couragement from  the  Scriptures  are  read  at 
their  bedside,  giving  them  the  blessing  of 
sweet  patience,  and  quieting  their  fears.  It 
is  laid  on  the  sorrowing,  when  the  consolations 
of  divine  love  come  to  their  hearts  with  tender 
comfort,  giving  them  strength  to  submit  to 
God's  will  and  rejoice  in  the  midst  of  trial. 
It  is  laid  on  the  faint  and  weary,  when  the 
grace  of  Christ  comes  to  them  with  its  holy 
peace,  hushing  the  wild  tumult,  and  giving 
true  rest  of  soul. 

But  there  is  another  way  in  which  the  hand 
of  Christ  is  laid  on  human  lives.  He  sends 
his  disciples  into  the  world  to  represent  him. 
"  As  the  Father  hath  sent  me,  even  so  send 
I  you,"  is  his  own  word.  Of  course  the  best 
and  holiest  Christian  life  can  be  only  the 
dimmest,  faintest  reproduction  of  the  rich, 
full,  blessed  life  of  Christ.  Yet  it  is  in  this 
way,  through  these  earthen  vessels,  that  he 
has  ordained  to  save  the  world,  and  to  heal, 
help,  comfort,  lift  up,  and  build  up  men. 


48  GETTING    CHRIST'S   TOUCH. 

**  In  these  earthen  vessels  heavenly  treasure 

For  the  enrichment  of  thy  poor  may  shine ; 
Thou  canst  fill  us  in  our  human  measure 
With  thy  being's  overflow  divine." 

Perhaps  in  thinking  of  what  God  does  for 
the  world,  we  are  too  apt  to  overlook  the 
human  agents  and  instruments,  and  to  think 
of  him  touching  lives  directly  and  immediately. 
A  friend  of  ours  is  in  sorrow,  and,  going  to 
our  knees,  we  pray  God  to  give  him  comfort. 
But  may  it  not  be  that  he  would  send  the  com- 
fort through  our  own  heart  and  lips  t  One  we 
love  is  not  doing  well,  is  drifting  away  from 
a  true  life,  is  in  danger  of  being  lost.  In 
anguish  of  heart  we  cry  to  God,  beseeching 
him  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  imperilled  life,  and 
rescue  it.  But  may  it  not  be  that  ours  is  the 
hand  that  must  be  stretched  out  in  love,  and 
laid,  in  Christ's  name,  on  the  life  that  is  in 
danger } 

Certain  it  is,  at  least,  that  each  one  of  us 
who  knows  the  love  of  Christ  is  ordained  to 
be  as  Christ  to  others  ;  that  is,  to  be  the  mes- 
senger to    carry  to   them  the  gift  of  Christ's 


GETTING   CHRIST'S   TOUCH.  49 

grace  and  help,  and  to  show  to  them  the  spirit 
of  Christ,  the  patience,  gentleness,  thoughtful- 
ness,  love,  and  yearning  of  Christ.  We  are 
taught  to  say,  "Christ  liveth  in  me."  If  this 
be  true,  Christ  would  love  others  through  us, 
and  our  touch  must  be  to  others  as  the  very 
touch  of  Christ  himself.  Every  Christian 
ought  to  be,  in  his  human  measure,  a  new 
incarnation  of  the  Christ,  so  that  people  shall 
say:  *'He  interprets  Christ  to  me.  He  com- 
forts me  in  my  sorrow  as  Christ  himself  would 
do  if  he  were  to  come  and  sit  down  beside  me. 
He  is  hopeful  and  patient  as  Christ  would  be 
if  he  were  to  return  and  take  me  as  his  dis- 
ciple." 

But  before  we  can  be  in  the  place  of  Christ 
to  sorrowing,  suffering,  and  struggling  ones,  we 
must  have  the  mind  in  us  that  was  in  him. 
When  St.  Paul  said,  "The  love  of  Christ  con- 
straineth  me,"  he  meant  that  he  had  the  very 
love  of  Christ  in  him  —  the  love  that  loved 
even  the  most  unlovely,  that  helped  even  the 
most  unworthy,  that  was  gentle  and  affection- 
ate even  to  the  most  loathsome.     We  are  never 


50  GETTING   CHRIST'S   J  OUCH. 

ready  to  do  goad  in  the  world,  in  the  truest 
sense  or  in  any  large  measure,  until  we  have 
become  thus  filled  with  the  very  spirit  of 
Christ.  We  may  help  people  in  a  certain  way 
without  loving  them.  We  may  render  them 
services  of  a  certain  kind,  benefiting  them 
externally  or  temporally.  We  may  put  ^mate- 
rial gifts  into  their  hands,  build  them  houses, 
purchase  clothing  for  them,  carry  them  bread, 
or  improve  their  circumstances  and  condition. 
We  may  thus  do  many  things  for  them  without 
having  in  our  heart  any  love  for  them,  any- 
thing better  than  common  philanthropy.  But 
the  highest  and  most  real  help  we  can  give 
them  only  through  loving  them. 

**When  I  have  attempted,"  says  Emerson, 
"  to  give  myself  to  others  by  services,  it  proved 
an  intellectual  trick  —  no  more.  They  eat 
your  services  like  apples,  and  leave  you  out. 
But  love  them,  and  they  feel  you  and  delight  in 
you  all  the  time."  When  we  love  others  we 
can  help  them  in  all  deep  and  true  ways.  We 
can  put  blessings  into  their  hearts  instead  of 
merely  into  their  hands.     We  can  enter  into 


GETTING    CHRIST'S   TOUCH.  51 

their  very  being,  becoming  new  breath  of  life 
to  them,  —  quickening,  inspiration,  impulse. 

**  What  is  the  best  a  friend  can  be 
To  any  soul,  to  you  or  me? 
Not  only  shelter,  comfort,  rest  — 
Inmost  refreshment  unexpressed ; 
Not  only  a  beloved  guide 
To  thread  life's  labyrinth  at  our  side, 
Or  with  love's  torch  lead  on  before ; 
Though  these  be  much,  there  yet  is  more. 

"The  best  friend  is  an  atmosphere 
Warm  with  all  inspirations  dear, 
Wherein  we  breathe  the  large,  free  breath 
Of  life  that  hath  no  taint  of  death. 
Our  friend  is  an  unconscious  part 
Of  every  true  beat  of  our  heart ; 
A  strength,  a  growth,  whence  we  derive 
God's  health,  that  keeps  the  world  ahve." 

There  is  a  touching  and  very  suggestive 
story  of  a  good  woman  in  Sweden,  who  opened 
a  home  for  crippled  and  diseased  children  — 
children  for  whom  no  one  else  was  ready  to 
care.  In  due  time  she  received  into  her  home 
about   twenty  of  these  unfortunate  little  ones. 


52  GETTING   CHRIST'S   TOUCH. 

Among  them  was  a  boy  of  three  years,  who 
was  a  most  frightful  and  disagreeable  object. 
He  resembled  a  skeleton.  His  skin  was 
covered  with  hideous  blotches  and  sores.  He 
was  always  whining  and  crying.  This  poor 
little  fellow  gave  the  good  lady  more  care  and 
trouble  than  all  the  others  together.  She  did 
her  best  for  him,  and  was  as  kind  as  possible — 
washed  him,  fed  him,  nursed  him.  But  the 
child  was  so  repulsive  in  his  looks  and  ways, 
that,  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  like  him,  and  often  her  disgust  would 
show  itself  in  her  face  in  spite  of  her  effort  to 
hide  it.     She  could  not  really  love  the  child. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  steps 
with  this  child  in  her  arms.  The  sun  was  shin- 
ing brightly,  and  the  perfume  of  the  autumn 
honeysuckles,  the  chirping  of  the  birds,  and  the 
buzzing  of  the  insects,  lulled  her  into  a  sort  of 
sleep.  Then  in  a  half-waking,  half-dreaming 
state,  she  thought  of  herself  as  having  changed 
places  with  the  child,  and  as  lying  there,  only 
more  foul,  more  repulsive  in  her  sinfulness  than 
he  was. 


GETTING   CHRIST'S    TOUCH.  53 

Over  her  she  saw  the  Lord  Jesus  bending, 
looking  lovingly  into  her  face,  yet  with  an 
expression  of  gentle  rebuke  in  his  eye,  as  if 
he  meant  to  say,  "  If  I  can  bear  with  you  who 
are  so  full  of  sin,  surely  you  ought,  for  my  sake, 
to  love  that  innocent  child  who  suffers  for  the 
sin  of  his  parents." 

She  woke  up  with  a  sudden  start,  and  looked 
into  the  boy's  face.  He  had  waked,  too,  and 
was  looking  very  earnestly  into  her  face. 
Sorry  for  her  past  disgust,  and  feeling  in  her 
heart  a  new  compassion  for  him,  she  bent  her 
face  to  his,  and  kissed  him  as  tenderly  as  ever 
she  had  kissed  babe  of  her  own.  With  a 
startled  look  in  his  eyes,  and  a  flush  on  his 
cheek,  the  boy  gave  her  back  a  smile  so  sweet 
that  she  had  never  seen  one  like  it  before. 
From  that  moment  a  wonderful  change  came 
over  the  child.  He  understood  the  new  affec- 
tion that  had  come  instead  of  dislike  and  loath- 
ing in  the  woman's  heart.  That  touch  of 
human  love  transformed  his  peevish,  fretful 
nature  into  gentle  quiet  and  beauty.  The 
Woman   had   seen   a  vision   of  herself  in  that 


54  GETTING   CHRIST'S   TOUCH. 

blotched,  repulsive  child,  and  of  Christ's  won- 
derful love  for  her  in  spite  of  her  sinfulness. 
Under  the  inspiration  of  this  vision  she  had 
become  indeed  as  Christ  to  the  child.  The 
love  of  Christ  had  come  into  her  heart,  and 
was  pouring  through  her  upon  that  poor, 
wretched,  wronged  life. 

Christ  loves  the  unlovely,  the  deformed,  the 
loathsome,  the  leprous.  We  have  only  to  think 
of  ourselves  as  we  are  in  his  sight,  and  then 
remember  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  moral  and 
spiritual  loathsomeness  in  us,  he  yet  loves  us, 
does  not  shrink  from  us,  lays  his  hand  upon 
us  to  heal  us,  takes  us  into  most  intimate 
companionship  with  himself.  This  Christian 
woman  had  seen  a  vision  of  herself,  and  of 
Christ  loving  her  still  and  condescending  to 
bless  and  save  her ;  and  now  she  was  ready  to 
be  as  Christ,  to  show  the  spirit  of  Christ,  to  be 
the  pity  and  the  love  of  Christ  to  this  poor, 
loathsome  child  lying  on  her  knee. 

She  had  gotten  the  touch  of  Christ  by  get- 
ting the  love  of  Christ  in  her  heart.  And 
we  can  get  it  in  no  other  way.     We  must  see 


GETTING   CHRIST'S    TOUCH.  55 

ourselves  as  Christ's  servants,  sent  by  him  to 
be  to  others  what  he  is  to  us.  Then  shall  we 
be  fitted  to  be  a  blessing  to  every  life  which 
our  life  touches.  Our  words  then  shall  throb 
with  love,  and  find  their  way  to  the  hearts  of 
the  weary  and  sorrowing.  Then  there  will  be  a 
sympathetic  quality  in  our  life  which  shall  give 
a  strange  power  of  helpfulness  to  whatever  we 
do. 

Says  a  thoughtful  writer,  speaking  of  in- 
fluence :  "  Let  a  man  press  nearer  to  Christ, 
and  open  his  nature  more  widely  to  admit  the 
energy  of  Christ,  and,  whether  he  knows  it 
or  not,  —  it  is  better,  perhaps,  if  he  does  not 
know  it, — he  will  certainly  be  growing  in  power 
for  God  with  men,  and  for  men  with  God." 
We  get  power  for  Christ  only  as  we  become 
filled  with  the  very  life  of  Christ. 

Everywhere  about  us  there  are  lives,  cold, 
and  cheerless,  and  dull,  which  by  the  touch  of 
our  hand,  in  loving  warmth,  in  Christ's  name, 
would  be  wondrously  blessed  and  transformed. 
Some  one  tells  of  going  into  a  jeweller's  store 
to  look  at  certain  gems.     Among  other  stones 


56  GETTING    CHRIST'S  TOUCH. 

he  was  shown  an  opal.  As  it  lay  there,  how- 
ever, it  appeared  dull  and  altogether  lustre- 
less. Then  the  jeweller  took  it  in  his  hand 
and  held  it  for  some  moments,  and  again 
showed  it  to  his  customer.  Now  it  gleamed 
and  flashed  with  all  the  glories  of  the  rainbow. 
It  needed  the  touch  and  warmth  of  a  human 
hand  to  bring  out  its  iridescence.  There  are 
human  lives  everywhere  about  us  that  are  rich 
in  their  possibilities  of  beauty  and  glory.  No 
gems  or  jewels  are  so  precious ;  but  as  we 
see  them  in  their  earthly  condition  they  are 
dull  and  lustreless,  without  brightness  or  love- 
liness. Perhaps  they  are  even  covered  with 
stain  and  defiled  by  sin.  Yet  they  need  only 
the  touch  of  the  hand  of  Christ  to  bring  out 
the  radiance,  the  loveliness,  the  beauty  of  the 
divine  image  in  them.  And  you  and  I  must 
be  the  hand  of  Christ  to  these  lustreless  or 
stained  lives.  Touching  them  with  our  warm 
love,  the  sleeping  splendor  that  is  in  them, 
hidden  mayhap  under  sin's  marring  and  ruin, 
will  yet  shine  out,  the  beginning  of  glory  for 
them. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  BLESSING  OP  A  BURDEN. 

"  Then  welcome  each  rebuff, 
That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand  nor  go. 
Be  our  joys  three  parts  pain ! 
Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain; 

Learn,  nor  account  the  pang;   dare,  never  grudge  the  throe!" 

—  Robert  Browning. 

It  is  not  always  the  easiest  things  that  are 
the  best  things.  Usually  we  have  to  pay  for 
any  good  thing  about  its  full  value.  In  all  mar- 
kets commodities  that  cost  little  may  be  set 
down  as  worth  but  little.  All  our  blessings 
may  be  rated  in  the  same  way.  If  they  come 
easily,  without  great  cost  of  effort  or  sacrifice, 
their  value  to  us  is  not  great.  But  if  we  can 
get  them  only  through  self-denial,  tears,  anguish, 
and  pain,  we  may  be  sure  that  they  hide  in  them 
the  very  gold  of  God.  So  it  is  that  many  of  our 
best  and  richest  blessings  come  to  us  in  some 
form  of  rugged  hardness. 

67 


58  THE  BLESSING   OF  A  BURDEN. 

Take  what  we  call  drudgery.  Life  is  full  of 
it.  It  begins  in  childhood.  There  is  school, 
with  its  set  hours,  its  lessons,  rules,  tables, 
tasks,  recitations.  Then,  when  we  grow  up, 
instead  of  getting  away  from  this  bondage  of 
routine,  this  interminable  drudgery,  it  goes  on 
just  as  in  childhood.  It  is  rising  at  the  same 
hour  every  morning,  and  hurrying  away  to  the 
day's  tasks,  and  doing  the  same  things  over  and 
over,  six  days  in  the  week,  fifty-two  weeks  in 
the  year,  and  on  and  on  unto  life's  end.  For 
the  great  majority  of  us,  there  is  almost  no 
break  in  the  monotonous  rounds  of  our  days 
through  the  long  years.  Many  of  us  sigh  and 
wish  we  might  in  some  way  free  ourselves  from 
this  endless  routine.  We  think  of  it  as  a  sore 
bondage  and  by  no  means  the  ideal  of  a  noble 
and  beautiful  life. 

But  really,  much  that  is  best  in  life  comes  out 
of  this  very  bondage.  A  recent  writer  suggests 
a  new  beatitude :  "Blessed  be  drudgery."  He 
reminds  us  that  no  Bible  beatitude  comes  easily, 
but  that  every  one  of  them  is  the  fruit  of  some 
experience  of  hardness  or  pain.     He  shows  us 


THE  BLESSING   OF  A  BURDEN  59 

that  life's  drudgery,  wearisome  and  disagreeable 
as  it  is,  yields  rich  treasures  of  good  and  blessing. 
Drudgery,  he  tells  us,  is  the  secret  of  all  cul- 
ture. He  names  as  fundamentals  in  a  strong, 
fine  character,  "  power  of  attention ;  power  of 
industry ;  promptitude  in  beginning  work  ; 
method,  accuracy,  and  despatch  in  doing  work ; 
perseverance  ;  courage  before  difficulties  ;  cheer 
under  straining  burdens ;  self-control ;  self-de- 
nial ;  temperance "  ;  and  claims  that  nowhere 
else  can  these  qualities  be  gotten  save  in  the  un- 
ending grind  and  pressure  of  those  routine  duties 
which  we  call  drudgery.  "  It  is  because  we  have 
to  go,  morning  after  morning,  through  rain, 
through  shine,  through  headache,  heartache,  to 
the  appointed  spot  and  do  the  appointed  work ; 
^  because,  and  only  because,  we  have  to  stick  to 
that  work  through  the  eight  or  ten  hours,  long 
after  rest  would  be  so  sweet ;  because  the 
school-boy's  lessons  must  be  learned  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  learned  without  a  slip ;  because 
the  accounts  on  the  ledger  must  square  to  a 
cent ;  because  the  goods  must  tally  exactly 
with   the    invoice ;  because  good  temper  must 


6o  THE  BLESSING  OF  A  BURDEN, 

be  kept  with  children,  customers,  neighbors, 
not  seven  times,  but  seventy  times  seven  ; 
because  the  besetting  sin  must  be  watched  to- 
day, to-morrow,  next  day  ;  in  short,  ...  it  is 
because,  and  only  because,  of  the  rut,  plod, 
grind,  hum-drum  in  the  work,  that  we  get  at 
last  those  self-foundations  laid,"  which  are 
essential  to  all  noble  character. 

So  there  is  a  blessing  for  us  in  the  com- 
monest, wearisomest  task-work  of  our  lives. 
"Blessed  be  drudgery"  is  truly  a  beatitude. 
We  all  need  the  discipline  of  this  tireless  plod- 
ding to  build  us  up  into  beautiful  character. 
Even  the  loveliest  flowers  must  have  their  roots 
in  common  earth  ;  so,  many  of  the  sweetest 
things  in  human  lives  grow  out  of  the  soil  of 
drudgery.  "  Be  thou,  O  man,  like  unto  the 
rose.  Its  root  is  indeed  in  dirt  and  mud,  but 
its  flowers  still  send  forth  grace  and  perfume." 

Take  again  life's  struggles  and  conflicts. 
There  are,  in  the  experience  of  each  one, 
obstacles,  hindrances,  and  difficulties,  which 
make  it  hard  to  live  successfully.  Every  one 
has  to  move  onward  and  upward  through  ranks 


THE  BLESSING    OF  A   BURDEN.  6 1 

of  resistances.  This  is  true  of  physical  Hfe.- 
Every  baby  that  is  born  begins  at  once  a  strug- 
gle for  existence.  To  be  victorious  and  live,  or 
to  succumb  and  die }  is  the  question  of  every 
cradle,  and  only  half  the  babies  born  reach 
their  teens.  After  that,  until  its  close,  life  is  a 
continuous  struggle  with  the  manifold  forms  of 
physical  infirmity.  If  we  live  to  be  old  it  must 
be  through  our  victoriousness  over  the  unceas- 
ing antagonism  of  accident  and  disease. 

The  same  is  true  in  mental  progress.  It 
must  be  made  against  resistance.  It  is  never 
easy  to  become  a  scholar  or  to  attain  intellec- 
tual culture.  It  takes  years  and  years  of  study 
and  discipline  to  draw  out  and  train  the  facul- 
ties of  the  mind.  An  indolent,  self-indulgent 
student  may  have  an  easy  time ;  he  never  trou- 
bles himself  with  difficult  problems  ;  he  lets  the 
hard  things  pass,  not  vexing  his  brain  with 
them.  But  in  evading  the  burden  he  misses 
the  blessing  that  was  in  it  for  him.  The  only 
path  to  the  joys  and  rewards  of  scholarship  is 
that  of  patient,  persistent  toil. 

It  is  true  also  in  spiritual  life.     We  enter  a 


62  THE  BLESSING   OF  A   BURDEN, 

world  of  antagonism  and  opposition  the  moment 
we  resolve  at  Christ's  feet  to  be  Christians,  to 
be  true  men  or  women,  to  forsake  sin,  to  obey 
God,  to  do  our  duty.  There  never  comes  a  day 
when  we  can  live  nobly  and  worthily  without 
effort,  without  resistance  to  wrong  influences, 
without  struggle  against  the  power  of  tempta- 
tion. It  never  gets  easy  to  be  good.  Evermore 
the  cross  lies  at  our  feet,  and  daily  it  must  be 
taken  up  and  carried,  if  we  would  follow  Christ. 
We  are  apt  to  grow  weary  of  this  unending 
struggle,  and  to  become  discouraged,  because 
there  is  neither  rest  nor  abatement  in  it. 

But  here  again  we  learn  that  it  is  out  of  just 
such  struggles  that  we  must  get  the  nobleness 
and  beauty  of  character  after  which  we  are 
striving.  One  of  the  old  Scotch  martyrs  had  on 
his  crest  the  motto,  Sttb  po7tdere  cresco  ("  I  grow 
under  a  weight").  On  the  crest  was  a  palm- 
tree,  with  weights  depending  from  its  fronds. 
In  spite  of  the  weights  the  tree  was  straight  as 
an  arrow,  lifting  its  crown  of  graceful  foliage 
high  up  in  the  serene  air.  It  is  well  known 
that   the   palm   grows   best  loaded   down  with 


THE  BLESSING    OF  A   BURDEN.  63 

weights.  Thus  this  martyr  testified  that  he, 
like  the  beautiful  tree  of  the  Orient,  grew  best 
in  his  spiritual  life  under  weights. 

This  is  the  universal  law  of  spiritual  growth. 
There  must  be  resistance,  struggle,  conflict,  or 
there  can  be  no  development  of  strength.  We 
are  inclined  to  pity  those  whose  lives  are  scenes 
of  toil  and  hardship,  but  God's  angels  do  not 
pity  them,  if  only  they  are  victorious ;  for  iii 
their  overcoming  they  are  climbing  daily  upward 
toward  the  holy  heights  of  sainthood.  The 
beatitudes  in  the  Apocalypse  are  all  for  over- 
comers.  Heaven's  rewards  and  crowns  lie  be- 
yond battle-plains.  Spiritual  life  always  needs 
opposition.  It  flourishes  most  luxuriantly  in 
adverse  circumstances.  We  grow  best  under 
weights.  We  find  our  richest  blessings  in  the 
burdens  we  dread  to  take  up. 

The  word  "character"  in  its  origin  is  sug- 
gestive. It  is  from  a  root  which  signifies  to 
scratch,  to  engrave,  to  cut  into  furrows.  Then 
it  comes  to  mean  that  which  is  engraved  or  cut 
on  anything.  In  life,  therefore,  it  is  that  which 
experiences  cut  or  furrow  in  the  soul.     A  baby 


64  THE  BLESSING   OF  A   BURDEN. 

has  no  character.  Its  life  is  hke  a  piece  of 
white  paper,  with  nothing  yet  written  upon  it ; 
or  it  is  like  a  smooth  marble  tablet,  on  which,  as 
yet,  the  sculptor  has  cut  nothing ;  or  the  can- 
vas, waiting  for  the  painter's  colors.  Charac- 
ter is  formed  as  the  years  go  on.  It  is  the 
writing,  — the  song,  the  story,  put  upon  the 
paper.  It  is  the  engraving,  the  sculpturing, 
which  the  marble  receives  under  the  chisel.  It 
is  the  picture  which  the  artist  paints  on  the 
canvas.  Final  character  is  what  a  man  is  when 
he  has  lived  through  all  his  earthly  years.  In 
the  Christian  it  is  the  lines  of  the  likeness  of 
Christ  limned,  sometimes  furrowed  and  scarred, 
upon  his  soul  by  the  divine  Spirit  through  the 
means  of  grace  and  the  experiences  of  his  own 
life. 

I  saw  a  beautiful  vase,  and  asked  its  story. 
Once  it  was  a  lump  of  common  clay  lying  in 
the  darkness.  Then  it  was  rudely  dug  out  and 
crushed  and  ground  in  the  mill,  and  then  put 
upon  the  wheel  and  shaped,  then  polished  and 
tinted  and  put  into  the  furnace  and  burned. 
At  last,  after  many  processes,  it  stood  upon  the 


THE  BLESSING    OF  A  BURDEN.  65 

table,  a  gem  of  graceful  beauty.  In  some  way 
analogous  to  this  every  noble  character  is 
formed.  Common  clay  at  first,  it  passes 
through  a  thousand  processes  and  experiences, 
many  of  them  hard  and  painful,  until  at  length 
it  is  presented  before  God,  faultless  in  its 
beauty,  bearing  the  features  of  Christ  himself. 

Spiritual  beauty  never  can  be  reached  v^^ith- 
out  cost.  The  blessing  is  always  hidden  away 
in  the  burden,  and  can  be  gotten  only  by  lifting 
the  burden.  Self  must  die  if  the  good  in  us  is 
to  live  and  shine  out  in  radiance,  Michael 
Angelo  used  to  say,  as  the  chippings  flew 
thick  from  the  marble  on  the  floor  of  his  studio, 
''While  the  marble  wastes,  the  image  grows." 
There  must  be  a  wasting  of  self,  a  chipping 
away  continually  of  things  that  are  dear  to 
nature,  if  the  things  that  are  true,  and  just,  and 
honorable,  and  pure,  and  lovely,  are  to  come 
out  in  the  life.  The  marble  must  waste  while 
the  image  grows. 

Then  take  suffering.  Here,  too,  the  same 
law  prevails.  Every  one  suffers.  Said  Augus- 
tine, "  God   had  one  Son  without  sin ;  he  has 


^  THE  BLESSING   OF  A   BURDEN. 

none  without  sorrow."  From  infancy's  first 
cry  until  the  old  man's  life  goes  out  in  a  gasp 
of  pain,  suffering  is  a  condition  of  existence. 
It  comes  in  manifold  forms.  Now  it  is  in  sick- 
ness ;  the  body  is  racked  with  pain  or  burns  in 
fever.  Ofttimes  sickness  is  a  heavy  burden. 
Yet  even  this  burden  has  a  blessing  in  it  for 
the  Christian.  Sickness  rightly  borne  makes 
us  better.  It  unbinds  the  world's  fetters.  It 
purifies  the  heart.  It  sobers  the  spirit.  It 
turns  the  eyes  heavenward.  It  strips  off  much 
of  the  illusion  of  life  and  uncovers  its  better 
realities.  Sickness  in  a  home  of  faith,  prayer, 
and  love,  softens  all  the  household  hearts, 
makes  sympathy  deeper,  draws  all  the  family 
closer  together. 

Trouble  comes  in  many  other  forms.  It  may 
be  a  bitter  disappointment  which  falls  upon  a 
young  life  when  love  has  not  been  true,  or  when 
character  has  proved  unworthy,  turning  the  fair 
blossoms  of  hope  to  dead  leaves  under  the  feet. 
There  are  lives  that  bear  the  pain  and  carry  the 
hidden  memorials  of  such  a  grief  through  long 
years,  making  them  sad  at  heart  even  when 
walking  in  sweetest  sunshine. 


THE  BLESSING    OF  A   BURDEN.  6y 

Or  it  may  be  the  failure  of  some  other  hope, 
as  when  one  has  followed  a  bright  dream  of 
ambition  for  days  and  years,  finding  it  only  a 
dream.  Or  it  may  be  the  keener,  more  bitter 
grief  which  comes  to  one  when  a  friend  —  a 
child,  a  brother  or  sister,  a  husband  or  wife  — 
does  badly.  In  such  a  case  even  the  divine 
comfort  cannot  heal  the  heart's  hurt ;  love  can- 
not but  suffer,  and  there  is  no  hand  that  can 
lessen  the  pang.  The  anguish  which  love  en- 
dures for  others'  sins  is  among  the  saddest  of 
earth's  sorrows. 

There  are  griefs  that  hang  no  crape  on  the 
door-bell,  that  wear  no  black  garments,  that 
close  no  shutters,  that  drop  no  tears  which  men 
can  see,  that  can  get  no  sympathy  save  that  of 
the  blessed  Christ  and  perhaps  of  a  closest 
human  brother,  and  must  wear  smiles  before 
men  and  go  on  with  life's  work  as  if  all  were 
gladness  within  the  heart.  If  we  knew  the 
inner  life  of  many  of  the  people  we  meet,  we 
would  be  very  gentle  with  them  and  would  ex- 
cuse the  things  in  them  that  seem  strange  or 
eccentric  to  us.     They  are  carrying  burdens  of 


6S  THE  BLESSING   OF  A   BURDEN. 

secret   grief.     We  do  not   begin   to   know   the 
sorrows  of  our  brothers. 

There  is  no  need  to  try  to  solve  that  old,  yet 
always  new,  question  of  human  hearts,  "  Why 
does  God  permit  so  much  suffering  in  his  chil- 
dren .-* "  It  is  idle  to  ask  this  question,  and  all 
efforts  at  answering  it  are  not  only  vain,  but 
they  are  even  irreverent.  We  may  be  sure, 
however,  of  one  thing,  that  in  every  pain  and 
trial  there  is  a  blessing  folded.  We  may  miss 
it,  but  it  is  there,  and  the  loss  is  ours  if  we  do 
not  get  it.  Every  night  of  sorrow  carries  in  its 
dark  bosom  its  own  lamps  of  comfort.  The 
darkness  of  grief  and  trial  is  full  of  benedic- 
tions. 

"The  dark  hath  many  dear  avails; 
The  dark  distils  divinest  dews ; 
The  dark  is  rich  with  nightingales, 
With  dreams,  and  with  the  heavenly  muse. 

*'  Of  fret,  of  dark,  of  thorn,  of  chill, 

Complain  thou  not,  my  heart,  for  these 
Bank  in  the  current  of  the  will." 

The  most  blessed  lives  in  the  world  are  those 
that    have    borne    the    burden     of     suffering. 


THE  BLESSING   OF  A  BURDEN,  69 

*' Where,  think  you,"  asks  James  Martineaii, 
''does  the  Heavenly  Father  hear  the  tones  of 
deepest  love,  and  see  on  the  uplifted  face  the 
light  of  most  heartfelt  gratitude  ?  Not  where 
his  gifts  are  most  profuse,  but  where  they  are 
most  meagre ;  not  within  the  halls  of  success- 
ful ambition,  or  even  in  the  dwellings  of  un- 
broken domestic  peace ;  but  where  the  outcast, 
flying  from  persecution,  kneels  in  the  even- 
ing on  the  rocks  whereon  he  sleeps ;  at  the 
fresh  grave,  where,  as  the  earth  is  opened, 
heaven  in  answer  opens  too ;  by  the  pillow  of 
the  wasted  sufferer,  where  the  sunken  eye, 
denied  sleep,  converses  with  the  silent  stars, 
and  the  hollow  voice  enumerates  in  low  prayer 
the  scanty  list  of  comforts,  the  easily  remem- 
bered blessings,  and  the  shortened  tale  of  hopes. 
Genial,  almost  to  a  miracle,  is  the  soil  of  sorrow, 
wherein  the  smallest  seed  of  love,  timely  falling, 
becometh  a  tree,  in  whose  foliage  the  birds  of 
blessed  song  lodge  and  sing  unceasingly." 

The  truly  happiest,  sweetest,  tenderest  homes 
are  not  those  where  there  has  been  no  sorrow, 
but  those  which  have  been  overshadowed  with 


f6  THE  BLESSING   OF  A  BURDEN. 

grief,  and  where  Christ's  comfort  was  accepted. 
The  very  memory  of  the  sorrow  is  a  gentle  ben- 
ediction that  broods  ever  over  the  household, 
like  the  afterglow  of  sunset,  like  the  silence 
that  comes  after  prayer. 

In  every  burden  of  sorrow  there  is  a  blessing 
sent  from  God,  which  we  ought  not  to  thrust 
away.  In  one  of  the  battles  of  the  Crimea,  a 
cannon-ball  struck  inside  a  fort,  gashing  the 
earth  and  sadly  marring  the  garden  beauty  of 
the  place.  But  from  the  ugly  chasm  there 
burst  forth  a  spring  of  water,  which  flowed  on 
thereafter,  a  living  fountain.  So  the  strokes  of 
sorrow  gash  our  hearts,  leaving  ofttimes  wounds 
and  scars,  but  they  open  for  us  fountains  of  rich 
blessing  and  of  new  life. 

*'  Then  Sorrow  whispered  gently :  '  Take 

This  burden  up.     Be  not  afraid. 
An  hour  is  short.     Thou  scarce  wilt  wake 

To  consciousness  that  I  have  laid 
My  hand  upon  thee,  when  the  hour 

Shall  all  have  passed ;  and  gladder  then 
For  the  brief  pain's  uplifting  power, 

Thou  shalt  but  pity  griefless  men.'  " 


THE  BLESSING   OF  A  BURDEN.  7 1 

These  are  hints  of  the  blessings  of  burdens. 
Our  dull  task-work,  accepted,  will  train  us  into 
strong  and  noble  character.  Our  temptations 
and  hardships,  met  victoriously,  knit  thews  and 
sinews  of  strength  in  our  souls.  Our  pain  and 
sorrow,  endured  with  sweet  trust  and  submis- 
sion, leave  us  with  life  purified  and  enriched, 
with  more  of  Christ  in  us.  In  every  burden 
that  God  lays  upon  us,  there  is  a  blessing  for 
us,  if  only  we  will  take  it. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HEART-PEACE  BEFORE   MINISTRY. 

"  Like  the  star 

That  shines  afar, 

Without  haste 

And  without  rest, 

Let  each  man  wheel,  with  steady  sway, 

Round  the  task  that  rules  the  day, 

And  do  his  best." 

—  Goethe. 

Peace  in  the  heart  is  one  of  the  conditions  of 
good  work.  We  cannot  do  our  best  in  any- 
thing if  we  are  fretted  and  anxious.  A  feverish 
heart  makes  an  inflamed  brain,  a  clouded  eye, 
and  an  unsteady  hand.  The  people  who  really 
accomplish  the  most,  and  achieve  the  best  re- 
sults, are  those  of  calm,  self-controlled  spirit. 
Those  who  are  nervous  and  excited  may  be 
always  busy,  and  always  under  pressure  of 
haste ;  but  in  the  end  they  do  far  less  work 
than  if  they  wrought  calmly  and  steadily,  and 
were  never  in  a  hurry. 
72 


HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY.         73 

Nervous  haste  is  always  hindering  haste.  It 
does  faulty  work,  and  does  but  little  of  it  in  the 
end.  Really  rapid  workers  are  always  delib- 
erate in  their  movements,  never  appearing  to 
be  in  any  hurry  whatever  ;  and  yet  they  pass 
swiftly  from  task  to  task,  doing  each  duty  well 
because  they  are  calm  and  unflustered,  and, 
with  their  wits  about  them,  work  with  clear  eye, 
steady  nerve,  and  skilful  hand. 

An  eminent  French  surgeon  used  to  say  to 
his  students,  when  they  were  engaged  in  diffi- 
cult and  delicate  operations,  in  which  coolness 
and  firmness  were  needed,  "  Gentlemen,  don't 
be  in  a  hurry  ;  for  there's  no  time  to  lose." 

The  people  in  all  lines  of  duty  who  do  the 
most  work  are  the  calmest,  most  unhurried  peo- 
ple in  the  community.  Duties  never  wildly 
chase  each  other  in  their  lives.  One  task  never 
crowds  another  out,  nor  ever  compels  hurried, 
and  therefore  imperfect,  doing.  The  calm  spirit 
works  methodically,  doing  one  thing  at  a  time, 
and  doing  it  well ;  and  it  therefore  works 
swiftly,  though  never  appearing  to  be  in  haste. 

We  need  the  peace  of  God  in  our  heart  just 


/4         HEART-PEACE   BEFORE  MINISTRY. 

as  really  for  the  doing  well  of  the  little  things 
of  our  secular  life  as  for  the  doing  of  the  great- 
est duties  of  Christ's  kingdom.  Our  face  ought 
to  shine,  and  our  spirit  ought  to  be  tranquil,  and 
our  eye  ought  to  be  clear,  and  our  nerves  ought 
to  be  steady,  as  we  press  through  the  tasks  of 
our  commonest  day.  Then  we  shall  do  them 
all  well,  slurring  nothing,  marring  nothing. 
We  want  heart-peace  before  we  begin  any  day's 
duties,  and  we  should  wait  at  Christ's  feet  till 
we  get  his  quieting  touch  upon  our  heart  ere  we 
go  forth. 

It  is  especially  true  in  spiritual  work  that  we 
must  know  the  secret  of  peace  before  we  can 
minister  either  swiftly  or  effectively  to  others 
in  our  Master's  name.  Feverishness  of  spirit 
makes  the  hand  unskilful  in  delicate  duty.  A 
troubled  heart  cannot  give  comfort  to  other 
troubled  hearts ;  it  must  first  become  calm  and 
quiet.  It  is  often  said  that  one  who  has  suf- 
fered is  prepared  to  help  others  in  suffering; 
but  this  is  true  only  when  one  has  suffered 
victoriously,  and  has  passed  up  out  of  the 
deep,  dark  valley  of  pain  and  tears  to  the  radi- 


HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY.         75 

ant  mountain-tops  of  peace.  An  uncomforted 
mourner  cannot  be  a  messenger  of  consolation 
to  another  in  grief.  One  whose  heart  is  still 
vexed  and  uncalmed  cannot  be  a  physician  to 
hearts  with  bleeding  wounds.  We  must  first 
have  been  comforted  of  God  ourselves,  before 
we  can  comfort  others  in  their  tribulations. 

The  same  is  true  of  all  spiritual  ministry. 
We  need  a  steady  hand  to  touch  the  work  of 
Christ's  kingdom.  One  of  our  Lord's  earlier 
miracles  furnishes  an  illustration  of  this  truth. 
Jesus  was  called  to  heal  a  woman  who  lay  sick 
of  a  great  fever.  One  of  the  Gospels  describes 
the  cure  in  these  striking  words  :  "  He  touched 
her  hand,  and  the  fever  left  her ;  and  she  arose 
and  ministered  unto  them."  We  readily  un- 
derstand this  record  in  its  primary  reference 
to  the  physical  cure  that  was  wrought  by  our 
Lord.  We  know,  of  course,  that  the  woman 
could  not  minister  to  others  while  the  fever 
was  on  her.  When  sore  sickness  comes,  the 
busiest,  fullest  hands  must  drop  their  tasks. 
No  matter  how  important  the  work  is,  how 
essential  it  may  appear,  it  must  be  laid  down 


jS         HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY. 

when  painful  illness  seizes  us.  We  must  be 
healed  of  our  fever  before  we  can  minister. 

But  there  are  other  fevers  besides  those 
which  burn  in  men's  bodies.  There  are  heart- 
fevers  which  may  rage  within  us,  even  when 
our  bodies  are  in  perfect  health.  We  find 
people  with  feverish  spirits — unhappy,  dis- 
contented, fretted,  worried,  perhaps  insubmis- 
sive  and  rebellious.  Or  they  may  be  in  a 
fever  of  fear  or  dread.  These  inward  fevers 
are  worse  evils  than  mere  bodily  illness.  It 
is  better  in  sickness  to  have  our  heart's  fever 
depart,  even  though  we  must  longer  keep  our 
pain,  than  to  recover  our  physical  health,  mean- 
while keeping  our  fretfulness  and  impatience 
uncured. 

We  cannot  minister  while  heart-fever  of 
any  kind  is  on  us.  We  may  go  on  with  our 
work,  but  we  cannot  do  it  well,  and  there  will 
be  little  blessing  in  it.  Discontent  hinders 
any  life's  usefulness.  Jesus  loved  Martha,  and 
accepted  her  service  because  he  knew  she 
loved  him ;  but  he  plainly  told  her  that  her 
feverishness   was    not    beautiful,    and    that    it 


HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY.  jy 

detracted  from  the  worth  and  the  full  accept- 
ableness  of  the  good  work  she  did ;  and  he 
pointed  her  to  Mary's  quiet  peace  as  a  better 
way  of  living  and  serving.  Anxiety  of  any 
kind  unfits  us  in  some  degree  for  work.  It  is 
only  when  Christ  comes  and  lays  his  hand 
upon  our  heart,  and  cures  its  fever,  that  we 
are  ready  for  ministering  in  his  name  in  the 
most  efficient  way. 

There  is  a  little  story  of  a  busy  woman's  life 
which  illustrates  this  lesson.  She  was  the 
mother  of  a  large  family,  and,  being  in  plain 
circumstances,  was  required  to  do  her  own 
work.  Sometimes,  in  the  multiplicity  of  her 
tasks  and  cares,  she  lost  the  sweetness  of  her 
peace,  and,  like  Martha,  became  troubled  and 
worried  with  her  much  serving.  One  morning 
she  had  been  unusually  hurried,  and  things  had 
not  gone  smoothly.  She  had  breakfast  to  get 
for  her  family,  her  husband  to  care  for  as  he 
hasted  away  early  to  his  work,  and  her  children 
to  make  ready  for  school.  There  were  other 
household  duties  which  filled  the  poor,  weak 
woman's   hands,  until  her   strength   was   well- 


^8         HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY. 

nigh  utterly  exhausted.  And  she  had  not  gone 
through  it  all  that  morning  in  a  sweet,  peace- 
ful way.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  lose  her 
patience,  and  to  grow  fretful,  vexed,  and  un- 
happy. She  had  spoken  quick,  hasty,  petulant 
words  to  her  husband  and  her  children.  Her 
heart  had  been  in  a  fever  of  irritation  and  dis- 
quiet all  the  morning. 

When  the  children  were  gone,  and  the  press- 
ing tasks  were  finished,  and  the  house  was  all 
quiet,  the  tired  woman  crept  upstairs  to  her 
own  room.  She  was  greatly  discouraged.  She 
felt  that  her  morning  had  been  a  most  unsatis- 
factory one ;  that  she  had  sadly  failed  in  her 
duty;  that  she  had  grieved  her  Master  by  her 
want  of  patience  and  gentleness,  and  had  hurt 
her  children's  lives  by  her  fretfulness  and  her 
ill-tempered  words.  Shutting  her  door,  she 
took  up  her  Bible  and  read  the  story  of  the 
healing  of  the  sick  woman  :  "  He  touched  her 
hand,  and  the  fever  left  her ;  and  she  arose 
and  ministered  unto  them." 

"Ah!"  said  she,  "if  I  could  have  had  that 
touch  before  I  began  my  morning's  work,  the 


HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY.  79 

fever  would  have  left  me,  and  I  should  have 
been  prepared  to  minister  sweetly  and  peace- 
fully to  my  family."  She  had  learned  that  she 
needed  the  touch  of  Christ  to  make  her  ready 
for  beautiful  and  gentle  service. 

In  contrast  with  this  story,  and  showing  the 
blessed  sweetness  and  holy  influence  of  a  life 
that  gets  Christ's  touch  in  the  morning,  there 
is  this  account  by  Archdeacon  Farrar  of  his 
mother :  *'  My  mother's  habit  was,  every  day, 
immediately  after  breakfast,  to  withdraw  for 
an  hour  to  her  own  room,  and  to  spend  that 
hour  in  reading  the  Bible,  in  meditation,  and 
in  prayer.  From  that  hour,  as  from  a  pure 
fountain,  she  drew  the  strength  and  the  sweet- 
ness which  enabled  her  to  fulfil  all  her  duties, 
and  to  remain  unruffled  by  all  the  worries  and 
pettinesses  which  are  so  often  the  intolerable 
trial  of  narrow  neighborhoods.  As  I  think  of 
her  life,  and  of  all  it  had  to  bear,  I  see  the 
absolute  triumph  of  Christian  grace  in  the 
lovely  ideal  of  a  Christian  lady.  I  never  saw 
her  temper  disturbed ;  I  never  heard  her  speak 
one  word  of  anger,  or  of  calumny,  or  of  idle 


8o  HEART-PEACE  BEFORE  MINISTRY. 

gossip.  I  never  observed  in  her  any  sign  of 
a  single  sentiment  unbecoming  to  a  soul  which 
had  drunk  of  the  river  of  the  water  of  life,  and 
which  had  fed  upon  manna  in  the  barren  wilder' 
ness.  The  world  is  the  better  for  the  passage 
of  such  souls  across  its  surface.  They  may 
seem  to  be  as  much  forgotten  as  the  drops  of 
rain  which  fall  into  the  barren  sea,  but  each 
rain-drop  adds  to  the  volume  of  refreshful  and 
purifying  waters.  *The  healing  of  the  world 
is  in  its  nameless  saints.  A  single  star  seems 
nothing,  but  a  thousand  scattered  stars  break 
up  the  night  and  make  it  beautiful.*  " 

There  are  many  busy  mothers  to  whom  this 
lesson  may  come  almost  as  a  revelation.  No 
hands  are  fuller  of  tasks,  no  heart  is  fuller  of 
cares,  than  the  hands  and  the  heart  of  a  mother 
of  a  large  family  of  young  children.  It  is 
little  wonder  if  sometimes  she  loses  her  sweet- 
ness of  spirit  in  the  pressure  of  care  that  is 
upon  her.  But  this  lesson  is  worth  learning. 
Let  the  mothers  wait  on  their  knees  each  morn- 
ing, before  they  begin  their  work,  for  the  touch 
of  Christ's  hand  upon  their  heart.     Then  the 


HEART-PEACE   BEFORE  MINISTRY.  8 1 

fever  will  leave  them,  and  they  can  enter  with 
calm  peace  on  the  work  of  the  long,  hard  day. 

The  lesson,  however,  is  for  us  all.  We  are 
in  no  condition  for  good  work  of  any  kind  when 
we  are  fretted  and  anxious  in  mind.  It  is  onl)) 
when  the  peace  of  God  is  in  our  heart  that  we 
are  ready  for  true  and  really  helpful  ministry. 
A  feverish  heart  makes  a  worried  face,  and  a 
worried  face  casts  a  shadow.  A  troubled  spirit 
mars  the  temper  and  disposition.  It  unfits  one 
for  being  a  comforter  of  others,  for  giving 
cheer  and  inspiration,  for  touching  other  lives 
with  good  and  helpful  impulses.  Peace  must 
come  before  ministry.  We  need  to  have  our 
fever  cured  before  we  go  out  to  our  work. 
Hence,  we  should  begin  each  new  day  at  the 
Master's  feet,  and  get  his  cooling,  quieting 
touch  upon  our  hot  hand.  Then,  and  not  till 
then,  shall  we  be  ready  for  good  service  in  his 
name. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

MORAL   CURVATURES. 

"  I  think  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 
In  this  fair  world  of  God's,     Had  we  no  hope 
Indeed  beyond  the  zenith  and  the  slope 
Of  yon  gray  blank  sky,  we  might  grow  faint 
To  muse  upon  eternity's  constraint 
Round  our  aspirant  souls ;  but  since  the  scope 
Must  widen  early,  is  it  well  to  droop, 
For  a  few  days  consumed  in  loss  and  taint  ?  " 

—  Mrs.  Browning. 

Our  Lord's  miracles  are  parables  in  act.  A 
woman  came  to  him  bent  almost  double,  and 
went  away  straight.  The  human  form  is  made 
for  erectness.  This  is  one  of  the  marks  of 
nobility  in  man,  in  contrast  with  the  downward 
bending  and  looking  of  other  animals.  Man  is 
the  only  creature  that  bears  this  erect  form. 
It  is  a  part  of  the  image  of  God  upon  him.  It 
mdicates  heavenly  aspiration,  hunger  for  God, 
desire  for  pure  and  lofty  things,  capacity  for 
82 


MORAL    CURVATURES.  83 

immortal  blessedness.  It  tells  of  man's  hope 
and  home  above  the  earth,  beyond  the  stars. 
Says  an  old  writer,  "  God  gave  to  man  a  face 
directed  upwards,  and  bade  him  look  at  the 
heavens,  and  raise  his  uplifted  countenance 
toward  the  stars."  The  Greek  word  for  "  man  " 
meant  the  upward  looking.  The  bending  of 
the  form  and  face  downward,  toward  the  earth, 
has  always  been  the  symbol  of  a  soul  turned 
unworthily  toward  lower  things,  forgetful  of 
its  true  home.  Milton  has  this  thought  in 
describing  Mammon  :  — 

**  Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven ;  for  even  in  heaven  his  looks  and  thoughts 
Were  always  downward  bent." 

The  look  of  a  man's  eyes  tells  where  his  heart 
is,  whither  his  desires  are  reaching  and  tend- 
ing, how  his  life  is  growing. 

There  are  a  great  many  bent  people  in  the 
world.  Physical  bending  may  be  caused  by 
accident  or  disease,  and  is  no  mark  of  spirit- 
ual curvature.  Many  a  deformed  body  is  the 
home  of  a  noble  and  holy  soul,  with  eyes  and 


84  MORAL    CURVATURES. 

aspirations  turned  upward  toward  God.  I 
remember  a  woman  in  my  first  parish  who 
then  for  fourteen  years  had  sat  in  her  chair, 
unable  to  Hft  hand  or  foot,  every  joint  drawn, 
her  wasted  body  frightfully  bent.  Yet  she  had 
a  transfigured  face,  telling  of  a  beautiful  soul 
within.  Joy  and  peace  shone  out  through  that 
poor  tortured  body.  Disease  may  drag  down 
the  erect  form,  until  all  its  beauty  is  gone,  and 
the  inner  life  meanwhile  may  be  erect  as  an 
angel,  with  its  eyes  and  aspirations  turned 
upward  toward  God. 

But  there  are  crooked  souls  —  souls  that  are 
bent  down.  This  may  be  the  case  even  while 
the  body  is  straight  as  an  arrow.  There  are 
men  and  women  whose  forms  are  admired  for 
their  erectness,  their  graceful  proportions,  their 
lithe  movements,  their  lovely  features,  yet 
whose  souls  are  debased,  whose  desires  are 
grovelling,  whose  characters  are  sadly  misshapen 
and  deformed. 

Sin  always  bends  the  soul.  Many  a  young 
man  comes  out  from  a  holy  home  in  the  beauty 
and  strength  of   youth,  wearing   the   unsullied 


MORAL    CURVATURES,  85 

robes  of  innocence,  with  eye  clear  and  uplifted, 
with  aspirations  for  noble  things,  with  hopes 
that  are  exalted ;  but  a  few  years  later  he  ap- 
pears a  debased  and  ruined  man,  with  soul  bent 
sadly  downward.  The  bending  begins  in  slight 
yieldings  to  sin,  but  the  tendency  unchecked 
grows  and  fixes  itself  in  the  life  in  permanent 
moral  disfigurement. 

A  stage-driver  had  held  the  lines  for  many 
years,  and  when  he  grew  old,  his  hands  were 
crooked  into  hooks,  and  his  fingers  were  so 
stiffened  that  they  could  not  be  straightened 
out.  There  is  a  similar  process  that  goes  on  in 
men's  souls  when  they  continue  to  do  the  same 
thinofs  over  and  over.  One  who  is  trained  from 
childhood  to  be  gentle,  kindly,  patient,  to  control 
the  temper,  to  speak  softly,  to  be  loving  and 
charitable,  will  grow  into  the  radiant  beauty 
of  love.  One  who  accustoms  himself  to  think 
habitually  and  only  of  noble  and  worthy  things, 
who  sets  his  affections  on  things  above,  and 
strives  to  reach  "whatsoever  things  are  true, 
whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things 
are   pure,  whatsoever   things   are   lovely,"  will 


S6  MORAL   CURVATURES. 

grow  continually  upward,  toward  spiritual  beau- 
ty. But  on  the  other  hand,  if  one  gives  way 
from  childhood  to  all  ugly  tempers,  all  resentful 
feelings,  all  bitterness  and  anger,  his  life  will 
shape  itself  into  the  unbeauty  of  these  disposi- 
tions. One  whose  mind  turns  to  debasing 
things,  things  unholy,  unclean,  will  find  his 
whole  soul  bending  and  growing  toward  the 
earth  in  permanent  moral  curvature. 

There  is  also  a  bending  of  the  life  by  sorrow. 
The  experience  of  sorrow  is  scarcely  less  peril- 
ous than  that  of  temptation.  The  common 
belief  is  that  grief  always  makes  people  better. 
But  this  is  not  true.  If  the  sufferer  submits  to 
God  with  loving  confidence,  and  is  victorious 
through  faith,  sorrow's  outcome  is  blessing  and 
good.  But  many  are  crushed  by  their  sorrow. 
They  yield  to  it,  and  it  bears  them  down  be- 
neath its  weight.  They  turn  their  faces  away 
from  heaven's  blue  and  the  light  of  God,  toward 
the  grave's  darkness,  and  their  souls  grow 
toward  the  gloom. 

Here  is  a  mother  who  several  years  since  lost 
by   death   a  beautiful   daughter.     The   mother 


MORAL    CURVATURES.  8/ 

was  a  Christian  woman,  and  her  child  was  also 
a  Christian,  dying  in  sweet  hope.  Yet  never 
since  that  coffin  was  closed  has  the  mother 
lifted  up  her  eyes  toward  God  in  submission 
and  hope.  She  visits  the  cemetery  on  Sun- 
days, but  never  the  church.  She  goes  with 
downcast  look  about  her  home,  weeping  when- 
ever her  daughter's  name  is  mentioned,  and 
complains  of  God's  hardness  and  unkindness  in 
taking  away  her  child.  She  is  bent  down  with 
her  eyes  to  the  earth,  and  sees  only  the  clods 
and  the  dust  and  the  grave's  gloom,  and  sees 
not  the  blue  sky,  the  bright  stars,  and  the  sweet 
face  of  the  Father.  So  long  has  she  now  been 
thus  bowed  down  in  the  habit  of  sadness  and 
grieving,  that  she  can  in  no  wise  lift  herself  up. 
Since  I  began  to  write  this  chapter  I  have 
had  a  long  talk  with  one  whose  life  is  sorely 
bent.  Ten  years  since  I  first  knew  her  as  a 
bright  and  happy  young  girl,  her  face  sunny 
in  the  light  of  God's  love.  Trouble  came  into 
her  life  in  many  forms.  Her  own  father  proved 
unworthy,  failing  in  all  the  sacred  duties  of 
affection  toward  his  child.     Events  in  her  own 


88  MORAL    CURVATURES. 

life  were  disappointing  and  discouraging. 
Friends  in  whom  she  had  trusted  failed  in  that 
faithfulness  and  helpfulness  which  one  has  a 
right  to  expect  from  one's  friends.  There  was 
a  succession  of  unhappy  experiences,  through 
several  years,  all  tending  to  hurt  her  heart-life. 
As  the  result  of  all  this,  she  has  become  embit- 
tered and  hardened,  not  only  against  those  who 
have  wronged  her  and  treated  her  unjustly,  but 
even  against  God.  So  long  has  she  yielded  to 
these  feelings  that  her  whole  life  has  been  bent 
down  from  its  upward,  Godward  look  into  set- 
tled despondency.  God  has  altogether  faded 
out  of  her  soul's  vision,  and  she  thinks  of  him 
only  as  unkind  and  unjust.  To  restore  her  life 
to  its  former  brightness  and  beauty  will  require 
a  moral  miracle  as  great  as  that  by  which  the 
body  of  the  crooked  woman  was  made  straight. 
Then  there  are  lives  also  that  are  bowed 
down  by  toil  and  care.  For  many  people,  life's 
burdens  are  very  heavy.  There  are  fathers  of 
large  families  who  sometimes  find  their  load  al- 
most more  than  they  can  bear,  in  their  efforts  to 
provide  for  those  who  are  dear  to  them.     There 


Moral  curvatures.  89 

are  mothers  who,  under  their  burdens  of  house- 
hold care,  at  times  feel  themselves  bowed  down, 
and  scarcely  able  longer  to  go  on.  In  all 
places  of  responsibility,  where  men  are  called 
to  stand,  the  load  many  times  grows  very 
heavy,  and  stalwart  forms  bend  under  it.  This 
world's  work  is  hard  for  most  of  us.  Life  is 
not  play  to  any  who  take  it  earnestly. 

And  many  persons  yield  to  the  weight  of  a 
duty,  and  let  themselves  be  bent  down  under  it. 
We  see  men  bowing  under  their  load,  until 
their  very  body  grows  crooked,  and  they  can 
look  only  downward.  We  see  them  become 
prematurely  old.  The  light  goes  out  of  their 
eyes ;  the  freshness  fades  out  of  their  cheeks  ; 
the  sweetness  leaves  their  spirit.  Few  things 
in  life  are  sadder  than  the  way  some  people  let 
themselves  be  bent  down  by  their  load  of  duty 
or  care.  There  really  is  no  reason  why  this 
should  be  so.  God  never  puts  any  greater  bur- 
den upon  us  than  we  are  able  to  bear,  with  the 
help  he  is  ready  to  give.  Christ  stands  ever 
close  beside  us,  willing  to  carry  the  heaviest 
end  of  every  load  that  is  laid  upon  us. 


go  MORAL   CURVATURES. 

Men  never  break  down  so  long  as  they  keep 
a  happy,  joyous  heart.  It  is  the  sad  heart  that 
tires.  Whatever  our  load,  we  should  always 
keep  a  songful  spirit  in  our  breast.  There  are 
two  ways  of  meeting  hard  experiences.  One 
way  is  to  struggle  and  resist,  refusing  to  yield. 
The  result  is,  the  wounding  of  the  soul  and  the 
intensifying  of  the  hardness.  The  other  way  is 
sweetly  to  accept  the  circumstances  or  the  re- 
straints, to  make  the  best  of  them,  and  to  en- 
dure them  songfully  and  cheerfully.  Those 
who  live  in  the  first  of  these  ways  grow  old  at 
mid-life.  Those  who  take  the  other  way  of 
life  keep  a  young,  happy  heart  even  to  old 
age. 

The  true  way  to  live  is  to  yield  to  no  burden ; 
to  carry  the  heaviest  load  with  courage  and 
gladness ;  never  to  let  one's  eyes  be  turned 
downward  toward  the  earth,  but  to  keep  them 
ever  lifted  up  to  the  hills.  Men  whose  work 
requires  them  to  stoop  all  the  time  —  to  work  in 
a  bent  posture  —  every  now  and  then  may  be 
seen  straightening  themselves  up,  taking  a  long, 
deep  breath  of  air,  and  looking  up  toward  the 


MORAL   CURVATURES.  91 

skies.  Thus  their  bodies  are  preserved  in 
health  and  erectness  in  spite  of  their  work. 
Whatever  our  toil  or  burden,  we  should  train 
ourselves  to  look  often  upward,  to  stand  erect, 
and  get  a  frequent  glimpse  of  the  sky  of  God's 
love,  and  a  frequent  breath  of  heaven's  pure, 
sweet  air.  Thus  we  shall  keep  our  souls  erect 
under  the  heaviest  load  of  work  or  care. 

The  miracle  of  the  straightening  of  the 
woman  who  was  bent  double,  has  its  gospel 
of  precious  hope  for  any  who  have  failed  to 
learn  earlier  the  lesson  of  keeping  straight. 
The  bowed  down  may  yet  be  lifted  up.  The 
curvature  of  eighteen  years'  growth  and  stif- 
fening was  cured  in  a  moment.  The  woman 
who  for  so  long  had  not  been  able  to  look  up, 
went  away  with  her  eyes  upturned  to  God  in 
praise. 

The  same  miracle  Christ  is  able  to  work  now 
upon  souls  that  are  bent,  whether  by  sin,  by 
sorrow,  or  by  life's  load  of  toil.  He  can  undo 
sin's  terrible  work,  and  restore  the  divine  image 
to  the  soul.  He  can  give  such  comfort  to  the 
sad  heart  that  eyes  long  downcast  shall  be  lifted 


^2  MORAL   CURVATURES. 

up  to  look  upon  God's  face  in  loving  submission 
and  joy.  He  can  put  such  songs  into  the 
hearts  of  the  weary  and  overwrought  that  the 
crooked  form  shall  grow  straight,  and  bright- 
ness shall  come  again  into  the  tired  face. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

TRANSFIGURED   LIVES. 

"  The  lives  which  seem  so  poor,  so  low, 

The  hearts  which  are  so  cramped  and  dull, 
The  baffled  hopes,  the  impulse  slow, 
Thou  takest,  touchest  all,  and  lo ! 
They  blossom  to  the  beautiful." 

—  Susan  Coolidge. 

Every  Christian's  life  should  be  transfigured. 
There  is  a  sense  in  which  even  a  true  believer's 
body  becomes  transfigured.  We  have  all  seen 
faces  that  appeared  to  shine  as  if  there  were 
some  hidden  light  behind  them.  There  are 
some  old  people  who  have  learned  well  life's 
lessons  of  patience,  peace,  contentment,  love, 
trust,  and  hope,  and  whose  faces  really  glow  as 
they  near  the  sunset  gates.  Sometimes  it  is  a 
saintly  sufferer,  who,  in  long  endurance  of  pain, 
learns  to  lie  on  Christ's  bosom  in  sweet  unmur- 
muring  quiet,  and   whose   features   take  upon 

93 


94  TRANSFIGURED   LIVES. 

themselves  increasingly  the  brightness  of  holy 
peace. 

But  whatever  grace  may  do  for  the  body,  it 
always  transfigures  the  character.  The  love  of 
God  finds  us  ruined  sinners,  and  leaves  us  glori- 
fied saints.  We  are  predestinated  *'to  be  con- 
formed to  the  image  of  his  Son."  Nor  are  we 
to  wait  for  death  to  transform  us ;  the  work 
should  begin  at  once.  We  have  a  responsibil- 
ity, too,  in  this  work.  The  sculptor  takes  the 
blackened  marble  block  and  hews  it  into  a  form 
of  beauty.  The  marble  is  passive  in  his  hands, 
and  does  nothing  but  submit  to  be  cut  and 
hewn  and  polished  as  he  will.  But  we  are  not 
insensate  marble  ;  we  have  a  part  in  the  fash- 
ioning of  our  lives  into  spiritual  holiness.  We 
will  never  become  like  Christ  without  our  own 
desire  and  effort. 

We  ought  to  know  well  what  our  part  is, 
what  we  have  to  do  with  our  own  sanctification. 
How,  then,  may  we  become  transfigured  Chris- 
tians } 

There  is  a  transfiguring  power  in  prayer.  It 
was  as  our  Lord  was  praying  that  the  fashion  of 


TRANSFIGURED  LIVES.  95 

his  countenance  was  altered.  What  is  prayer  ? 
It  is  far  more  than  the  tame  saying  over  of  cer- 
tain  forms  of  devotion.  It  is  the  pouring  out  of 
the  heart's  deepest  cravings.  It  is  the  highest 
act  of  which  the  soul  is  capable.  When  you 
pray  truly,  all  that  is  best,  noblest,  most  exalted, 
purest,  heavenliest  in  you,  presses  up  toward 
God.  Hence  earnest  prayer  always  lights  up 
the  very  face,  and  lifts  up  the  life  into  higher, 
holier  mood.  We  grow  toward  that  which  we 
much  desire.  Hence  prayers  for  Christ-likeness 
have  a  transfiguring  effect. 

Holy  thoughts  in  the  heart  have  also  a  trans- 
figuring influence  on  the  life.  ''  As  he  thinketh 
in  his  h>sart,  so  is  he."  If  we  allow  jealousies, 
envies,  ugly  tempers,  pride,  and  other  evil 
things  to  stay  in  our  heart,  our  life  will  grow 
into  the  likeness  of  these  unlovely  things.  But 
if  we  cherish  pure,  gentle,  unselfish,  holy 
thoughts  and  feelings,  our  life  will  become 
beautiful. 

Professor  Drummond  tells  of  a  young  girl 
whose  character  ripened  into  rare  loveliness. 
Her   friends   watched   her   growing  gentleness 


96  TRANSFIGURED   LIVES. 

and  heavenliness  with  wonder.  They  could  not 
understand  the  secret  of  it.  She  wore  about 
her  neck  a  Httle  locket  within  which  no  one  was 
allowed  to  look.  Once,  however,  she  was  very 
ill,  and  one  of  her  companions  was  permitted 
then  to  open  this  sacred  ornament,  and  she  saw 
there  the  words,  "  Whom  having  not  seen  I 
love."  This  was  the  secret.  It  was  love  for 
the  unseen  Christ  that  transfigured  her  life.  If 
we  think  continually  of  the  Christ,  meditating 
upon  him,  thinking  over  sweet  thoughts  of  him, 
and  letting  his  love  dwell  within  us,  we  shall 
grow  like  him. 

Communion  with  Christ  transfigures  a  life. 
Every  one  we  meet  leaves  a  touch  upon  us 
which  becomes  part  of  our  character.  Our 
lives  are  like  sheets  of  paper,  and  every  one 
who  comes  writes  a  word,  or  a  line,  or  leaves 
a  little  picture  painted  there.  Our  intimate 
companions  and  friends,  who  draw  very  close 
to  us,  and  are  much  with  us,  entering  into  our 
inner  heart-life,  make  very  deep  impressions 
upon  us. 

If,  therefore,  we   live   with    Christ,  abide  in 


TRANSFIGURED  LIVES.  97 

him,  the  close,  continued  companionship  with 
him  will  change  us  into  his  likeness.  Personal 
friendship  with  Christ  in  this  world  is  as 
possible  as  any  merely  human  friendship.  The 
companionship  is  spiritual,  but  it  is  real.  The 
devout  Christian  has  no  other  friend  who  enters 
so  fully  into  his  life  as  does  the  Lord  Christ 
Jesus.  The  effect  of  this  companionship  is  the 
transfiguring  of  the  character.  It  is  not  with- 
out reason  that  the  artists  paint  the  beloved 
disciple  as  likest  his  Lord  in  features.  He 
knew  Jesus  more  intimately  than  any  of  the 
other  disciples,  and,  in  his  deeper,  closer  com- 
panionship, was  more  affected  and  impressed  by 
the  Lord's  beauty  of  holiness. 

Again,  keeping  the  eye  upon  the  likeness  of 
Christ  transfigures  the  life.  The  old  monks 
intently  gazed  upon  the  crucifix,  and  they  said 
that  the  prints  of  the  nails  would  come  in  their 
hands  and  feet,  and  the  thorn-scars  in  their 
brow  as  they  beheld.  It  was  but  a  gross  fancy ; 
yet  in  the  fancy  there  is  a  spiritual  truth. 
Gazing  by  faith  upon  Christ,  the  lines  of  his 
beauty  indeed  print  themselves  on  oui  heartS' 


r)8  TRANSFIGURED  LIVES. 

This  is  the  meaning  of  St.  Paul's  word :  '*  We 
all,  with  unveiled  face,  beholding  as  in  a  mirror 
the  glory  of  the  Lord,  are  transformed  into 
the  same  image."  The  Gospel  is  the  mirror. 
There  we  see  the  image  of  Christ.  If  we 
earnestly,  continually,  and  lovingly  behold  it, 
the  effect  will  be  the  changing  of  our  own  lives 
into  the  same  likeness.  The  transformation 
is  wrought  by  the  divine  Spirit,  and  our  part 
is  only  to  behold,  to  continue  beholding,  the 
blessed  beauty.  We  sit  before  the  camera,  and 
our  own  picture  is  printed  on  the  prepared 
glass.  We  sit  before  Christ,  and  we  become 
the  camera,  and  his  image  is  printed  on  our 
soul. 

There  is  a  pathetic  story  of  a  French  sculp- 
tor, which  illustrates  the  sacredness  with  which 
life's  ideal  should  be  cherished  and  guarded. 
He  was  a  genius,  and  was  at  work  on  his 
masterpiece.  But  he  was  a  poor  man,  and 
lived  in  a  small  garret,  which  was  studio,  work- 
shop, and  bedroom  to  him.  He  had  his  statue 
almost  finished,  in  clay,  when  one  night  there 
came  suddenly  a  great  frost  over  the  city.     The 


TRANSFIGURED  LIVES.  99 

sculptor  lay  on  his  bed,  with  his  statue  before 
him  in  the  centre  of  the  fireless  room.  As  the 
chill  air  came  down  upon  him,  he  knew  that 
in  the  intense  cold  there  was  danger  that  the 
water  in  the  interstices  of  the  clay  would  freeze 
and  destroy  his  precious  work.  So  the  old  man 
arose  from  his  bed,  and  took  the  clothes  that 
had  covered  him  in  his  sleep,  and  reverently 
wrapped  them  about  his  statue  to  save  it,  then 
lay  down  himself  in  the  cold,  uncovered.  In 
the  morning,  when  his  friends  came  in,  they 
found  the  old  sculptor  dead ;  but  the  image 
was  preserved  unharmed. 

We  each  have  in  our  soul,  if  we  are  true 
believers  in  Christ,  a  vision  of  spiritual  loveli- 
ness into  which  we  are  striving  to  fashion  our 
lives.  This  vision  is  our  conception  of  the 
character  of  Christ.  "  That  is  what  I  am  going 
to  be  some  day,"  we  say.  Far  away  beyond 
our  present  attainment  as  this  vision  may  shine, 
yet  we  are  ever  striving  to  reach  it.  This  is 
the  ideal  which  we  carry  in  our  heart  amid  all 
our  toiling  and  struggling.  This  ideal  we  must 
keep  free  from  all  marring  or  stain.     We  must 


lOO  TRANSFIGURED  LIVES. 

save  it  though,  like  the  old  sculptor,  we  lose  our 
very  life  in  guarding  it.  We  should  be  willing 
to  die  rather  than  give  it  up  to  be  destroyed. 
We  should  preserve  the  image  of  Christ,  bright, 
radiant,  unsoiled,  in  our  soul,  until  it  transforms 
our  dull,  sinful,  earthly  life  into  its  own  trans- 
figured beauty. 

No  other  aim  in  life  is  worthy  of  an  immortal 
being.  We  may  become  like  the  angels ;  what 
debasement,  then,  to  let  our  lives,  with  all  their 
glorious  possibilities,  be  dragged  down  into  the 
dust  of  shame  and  dishonor !  Rather  let  us 
seek  continually  the  glory  for  which  we  were 
made  and  redeemed.  "Beloved,  now  are  we 
children  of  God,  and  it  is  not  yet  made  mani- 
fest what  we  shall  be.  We  know  that,  if  he 
shall  be  manifested,  we  shall  be  like  him  ;  for 
we  shall  see  him  even  as  he  is.  And  every  one 
that  hath  this  hope  set  on  him  purifieth  him.- 
self,  even  as  he  is  pure." 

**  Wonderful  the  whiteness  of  thy  glory; 
Can  we  truly  that  perfection  share? 
Yes ;  our  lives  are  pages  of  thy  story, 
We  thy  shape  and  superscription  bear ; 


TRANSFIGURED  LIVES.  \6\ 

Tarnished  forms  —  torn  leaves  —  but  thou  canst  mend 
them, 

Thou  thine  own  completeness  canst  unfold 
From  our  imperfections,  and  wilt  end  them  — 

Dross  consuming,  turning  dust  to  gold." 

A  drop  of  water  lay  one  day  in  a  gutter, 
soiled,  stained,  polluted.  Looking  up  into  the 
blue  of  the  sky,  it  began  to  wish  for  purity,  to 
long  to  be  cleansed  and  made  crystalline.  Its 
sigh  was  heard,  and  it  was  quickly  lifted  up  by 
the  sun's  gentle  fingers  —  up,  out  of  the  foul 
gutter,  into  the  sweet  air,  then  higher  and 
higher;  at  length  the  gentle  winds  caught  it 
and  bore  it  away,  away,  and  by  and  by  it  rested 
on  a  distant  mountain-top,  a  flake  of  pure,  white, 
beautiful  snow. 

This  is  a  little  parable  of  what  the  grace  of 
God  does  for  every  sinful  life  that  longs  and 
cries  for  purity  and  holiness. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW. 

"  So  much  we  miss 
If  love  is  weak ;   so  much  we  gain 
If  love  is  strong ;    God  thinks  no  pain 
Too  sharp  or  lasting  to  ordain 
To  teach  us  this." 

—  Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

There  will  always  be  mysteries  in  sorrow. 
Men  will  always  wonder  what  it  means.  It  is 
impossible  for  us,  with  our  earthly  limitations, 
to  understand  it.  Even  the  strongest  Christian 
faith  will  have  its  questions,  and  many  of  its 
questions  will  have  to  remain  unanswered  until 
the  horizon  of  life  is  widened,  and  its  dim  light 
becomes  full  and  clear  in  heaven.  Meanwhile, 
however,  some  of  these  questions  may  be  at 
least  partially  answered,  and  grief's  poignancy 
in  some  slight  measure  alleviated.  And  surely 
no  smallest  gleam  of  comfort  should  be  withheld 
102 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW.     \0% 

from  the  world  that  needs  comfort  so  sorely,  and 
cries  out  so  hungrily  for  it. 

Human  hearts  are  the  same  everywhere. 
Sorrow's  experiences,  while  strangely  diverse, 
are  yet  alike  in  their  general  features.  Wher- 
ever we  listen  to  the  suppressed  voices  of  grief, 
we  hear  the  same  questions.  What  has  been 
answer  to  one,  will  therefore  be  answer  to 
thousands  niore.  Recently,  in  one  day,  two 
letters  came  to  me  from  sorrowing  ones,  with 
questions.  Whether  any  comfort  was  given  in 
the  private  answers  or  not,  it  may  be  that  the 
mere  stating  of  the  questions,  with  a  few  sen- 
tences concerning  each,  may  be  helpful  to  others 
who  are  carrying  like  burdens. 

One  of  these  letters  is  from  a  Christian  man 
whose  only  son  has  been  led  into  sinful  courses, 
swiftly  descending  to  the  saddest  depths.  The 
story  is  too  painful  to  be  repeated  in  these 
pages.  In  his  sore  distress,  the  father,  a  godly 
man,  a  man  of  strong  faith  and  noble  wisdom, 
cries  out :  *^  What  is  the  comfort  even  of  Christ 
and  the  Bible  for  me .?  How  can  I  roll  this  bur- 
den of  mine  upon  God  ? " 


104      ^^^^  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW. 

In  answer  to  these  questions  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  there  are  some  things  which 
even  the  richest,  divinest  comfort  cannot  do. 
For  one  thing,  it  cannot  take  away  the  pain  of 
grief  or  sorrow.  Our  first  thought  of  comfort 
usually  is  that  it  shall  lift  off  our  burden.  We 
soon  learn,  however,  that  it  is  not  in  this  way 
that  comfort  ordinarily  comes.  It  does  not 
make  the  grief  any  less.  It  does  not  make  our 
hearts  any  less  sensitive  to  anguish.  "  Conso- 
lation implies  rather  an  augmentation  of  the 
power  of  bearing  than  a  diminution  of  the  bur- 
den." In  this  case,  it  cannot  lift  off  the  loving 
father's  heart  the  burden  of  disappointment  and 
anguish  which  he  experiences  in  seeing  his  son 
swept  away  in  the  currents  of  temptation.  No 
possible  comfort  can  do  this.  The  perfect  peace 
in  which  God  promises  to  keep  those  whose 
minds  are  stayed  on  him,  is  not  a  painless  peace 
in  any  case  of  suffering.  The  crushed  father 
cannot  expect  a  comfort  which  will  make  him 
forget  his  wandering,  sinning  child,  or  which 
will  cause  him  to  feel  no  longer  the  poignant 
anguish  which  the  boy's  course   causes  in  his 


THE   INTERPRETATION   OE  SORROW.      lo^ 

heart.  Father-love  must  be  destroyed  to  make 
such  comforting  possible,  and  that  would  be  a 
sorer  calamity  than  any  sorrow. 

The  comfort  in  such  a  grief,  is  that  which 
comes  through  faith  in  God  even  in  the  sore 
pain.  The  child  was  given  to  God  in  his  in- 
fancy, and  was  brought  up  as  God's  child  along 
his  early  years.  Who  will  say  that  he  may  not 
yet,  in  some  way,  at  some  time,  be  brought  back 
to  God  }  The  daily  burden  may  then  daily  be 
laid  in  the  divine  hands.  The  heart's  anguish 
may  express  itself  not  in  despairing  cries,  but  in 
believing  prayers,  inspired  by  the  promises,  and 
kindled  into  fervency  by  blessed  hope.  Then 
peace  will  come,  not  painless  peace,  but  peace 
which  lies  on  Christ's  bosom  in  the  darkness, 
and  loves  and  trusts  and  asks  no  questions,  but 
waits  with  all  of  hope's  expectancy. 

At  the  same  time  we  are  never  to  forget, 
while  we  trust  God  for  the  outcome  of  our  dis- 
appointments, that  every  sorrow  has  its  mission 
to  our  life.  There  is  something  he  desires  it  to 
work  in  us.  What  it  may  be  in  any  particular 
instance  we  cannot  tell ;  nor  is  it  wise  for  us  to 


Io6      THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROlV. 

ask.  The  wisest,  truest  thing  we  can  do  is  rev- 
erently to  open  our  hearts  to  the  ministry  of 
the  sorrow,  asking  God  to  do  his  will  in  us,  not 
allowing  us  to  hinder  the  beautiful  work  he 
would  do,  and  helping  us  to  rejoice  even  in  the 
grief.  The  tears  may  continue  to  flow,  but 
then  with  Mrs.  Browning  we  can  sing  :  — 

"  I  praise  thee  while  my  days  go  on  ; 
I  love  thee  while  my  days  go  on ; 
Through  dark  and  death,  through  fire  and  frost, 
With  emptied  arms  and  treasure  lost, 
I  thank  thee  while  my  days  go  on." 

The  other  letter  referred  to  is  from  another 
father,  over  whom  wave  after  wave  of  sorrow 
had  passed.  Within  a  brief  space  of  time  two 
children  were  taken  away.  The  one  was  a  son 
who  had  entered  his  professional  career,  and 
had  large  hope  and  promise  for  the  future  —  a 
young  man  of  rare  abilities  and  many  noble 
qualities.  The  other  was  a  daughter,  who  had 
reached  womanhood,  and  was  a  happy  and  be- 
loved wife,  surrounded  by  friends  and  the  re- 
finements   of   a   beautiful   home,    and    all   that 


THE  INTERPRETATION^  OF  SORROW.      10/ 

makes  life  sweet  and  desirable.  Both  of  these 
children  God  took,  one  soon  after  the  other. 
The  father,  a  man  of  most  tender  affections, 
and  yet  of  implicit  faith  in  God,  uttered  no 
murmur  when  called  to  stand  at  the  graves  of 
his  beloved  ones  ;  and  yet  his  heart  cries  out 
for  interpretation. 

He  writes  :  ''  In  one  of  your  books  ^  I  find 
these  words  :  *  Sometimes  our  best  beloved  are 
taken  away  from  us,  and  our  hearts  are  left 
bleeding,  as  a  vine  bleeds  when  a  green  branch 
is  cut  from  it.  .  .  .  Here  it  is  that  Christian 
faith  comes  in,  putting  such  interpretation  and 
explanation  upon  the  painful  things,  that  we 
may  be  ready  to  accept  them  with  confidence, 
even  with  rejoicing.  ...  A  strong,  abiding 
confidence  that  all  the  trials,  sorrows,  and  losses 
of  our  lives  are  parts  of  our  Father's  husbandry, 
ought  to  silence  every  question,  quiet  every 
fear,  and  give  peace  and  restful  assurance  to 
our  hearts  in  all  their  pain.  We  cannot  know 
the  reason  for  the  painful  strokes,  but  we  know 
that    he   who   holds    the   pruning-knife   is    our 

^  "  Practical  Religion,"  page  107 


I08      THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW. 

Father.     That  ought  always  to  be  enough  for 
us  to  know.'  " 

Having  quoted  these  words,  he  continues  : 
"Now  I  do  not  question  the  Father's  hus- 
bandry. I  would  also  *  silence  every  question  ' 
concerning  his  wisdom  and  his  love.  I  would 
not  doubt  them  for  a  moment.  When  I  found 
that  my  only  son,  my  pride  and  my  staff,  must 
die,  I  prayed  with  such  strong  crying  and  tears 
as  only  they  can  know  who  are  in  like  circum- 
stances, yet  feeling  that  I  could  give  back  to 
God  what  he  had  lent  me  without  a  murmur. 
By  his  help,  I  believe  even  the  slightest  mur- 
mur has  been  repressed  concerning  the  painful 
things,  and  that  in  some  measure  I  have  been 
ready  to  accept  them  with  confidence,  even  with 
rejoicing.  But  my  faith  has  not  come  in,  as 
you  suggest,  to  put  '  such  interpretation  and  ex- 
planation '  upon  them,  as  perhaps  I  ought  to  do. 
Why  has  God  thus  dealt  with  me }  Why  was 
a  double  stroke  necessary  }  Is  his  dealing  with 
me  purely  disciplinary  }  What  are  the  lessons 
he  would  teach  me }  How  am  I  to  test  myself 
as  to  whether  his  purpose  in  afflicting  me  has 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW.     1 09 

been  accomplished  ?  Or  am  I  not  anxiously  to 
inquire  concerning  the  specific  lessons,  but 
rather  to  let  him  show  in  due  time  what  he 
designed  ?  Such  questions  multiply  without 
answer." 

Has  not  this  writer  in  his  own  last  sugges- 
tion stated  what  should  be  done  by  those  who 
are  perplexed  with  questions  as  to  the  interpre- 
tation of  sorrow  ?  They  should  not  anxiously 
inquire  concerning  the  specific  lessons,  but 
rather  let  God  show  in  due  time  what  he  de- 
signed. No  doubt  every  sorrow  has  a  mission. 
It  comes  to  us,  as  God's  messenger,  with  a  mes- 
sage. If  we  will  welcome  it  reverently,  and  be 
still  while  it  gives  its  message,  no  doubt  we 
shall  receive  some  benediction. 

Yet  we  must  look  at  this  whole  matter  care- 
fully and  wisely.  We  are  in  danger  of  thinking 
only  of  ourselves,  and  of  the  effect  upon  us  and 
our  life  of  the  griefs  that  smite  us.  We  think 
too  often  of  our  bereavements,  for  example,  as 
if  God  took  away  the  friend,  ending  his  life,  just 
to  chasten  or  punish  us.  But  we  have  no  right 
to  take  so  narrow  a  view  of   God's  design   in 


1 1 0     THE  INTERPRE  TA  TION  OF  SORR  0  W. 

the  removal  of  loved  ones  from  our  side.  His 
purpose  concerns  them  as  well  as  us.  They  are 
called  away  because  their  work  on  earth  is  done, 
and  higher  service  in  other  spheres  awaits  them. 
To  them  death  is  gain,  promotion,  translation. 
The  event  itself,  in  its  primary  significance, 
is  a  joyous  and  blessed  one.  The  sorrow  which 
we  experience  in  their  removal  is  but  an  inci- 
dent. God  cannot  take  them  home  to  glory 
from  our  side,  without  giving  us  pain.  But  we 
must  not  reverse  this  order  and  think  that  the 
primary  end  of  the  calling  away  of  our  beloved 
ones  is  to  chasten  us,  or  to  cause  us  to  suffer. 
No  doubt  there  is  blessing  for  us  as  well  as  for 
them  in  their  leaving  us,  since  all  things  work 
together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God ;  but 
we  unduly  exaggerate  our  own  importance  when 
we  think  of  God  as  laying  a  beautiful  life  low  in 
death  merely  to  teach  us  some  lesson  or  give  to 
us  some  blessing. 

When  we  look  at  our  bereavements  in  this 
light,  and  think  of  what  death  means  to  our 
beloved  ones  who  have  been  taken  from  us,  we 
find  new  comfort  in  the  thought  of  their  immor- 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW.      Ill 

tality,  their  release  from  suffering  and  tempta- 
tion, and  their  full  blessedness  with  Christ.  It 
is  selfish  for  us  to  forget  this  in  the  absorption 
of  our  own  grief.  Should  we  not  be  willing  to 
endure  loss  and  pain  that  those  dear  to  us  may 
receive  gain  and  blessing } 

Even  in  life's  relationships  on  the  earth  we 
are  continually  taught  the  same  lesson.  Par- 
ents must  give  up  their  children,  losing  them 
out  of  the  home  nest,  that  they  may  go  forth 
into  the  world  to  take  up  life's  duties  for  them- 
selves. Then  also  the  separation  is  painful,  but 
it  is  borne  in  the  sweet  silence  of  self-denying 
love.  We  give  up  our  friends  when  they  are 
called  from  our  side  to  accept  other  and  higher 
places.  Life  is  full  of  such  separations,  and  we 
are  taught  that  it  is  our  duty  to  think  of  others, 
bearing  our  own  loss  in  patience  for  their  sake. 
Does  not  the  same  law  of  love  ''that  seeketh 
not  its  own  "  apply  when  our  beloved  ones  are 
called  up  higher  1 

Of  lessons  to  be  learned  in  sorrow  the  first 
always  is  submission.  We  are  told  even  of  our 
J^ord  that  he  ''learned  obedience  by  the  things 


112      THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW. 

which  he  suffered."  This  is  life's  great,  all-inclu' 
sive  lesson.  When  we  have  learned  this  fully, 
perfectly,  the  work  of  sanctification  in  us  is 
complete. 

Then  another  lesson  in  all  sorrow  comes  in 
the  softening  and  enriching  of  the  life  in  order 
to  greater  personal  helpfulness.  It  is  sad  for 
us  if  for  any  cause  we  miss  this  blessed  out- 
come of  grief  and  pain.  Christ  suffered  in  all 
points  that  he  might  be  fitted  for  his  work  of 
helping  and  saving  men.  God  teaches  us  in  our 
sorrow  what  he  would  have  us  tell  others  in 
their  time  of  trial.  Those  who  suffer  patiently 
and  sweetly  go  forth  with  new  messages  for 
others,  and  with  new  power  to  comfort. 

Beyond  these  two  wide,  general  lessons  of  all 
sorrow,  it  usually  is  not  wise  to  press  our  ques- 
tion, "Why  is  it  .-^  "  It  is  better  for  us  so  to 
relate  ourselves  to  God  in  every  time  of  trial, 
that  we  may  not  hinder  the  coming  to  us  of  any 
blessing  he  may  send,  but  on  the  other  hand, 
may  receive  with  quiet,  sweet  welcome  whatever 
teaching,  correction,  revealing,  purifying,  or 
quickening  he   would  give  us.      Surely  this  is 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  SORROW.      I13 

better  far  than  that  we  should  anxiously  inquire 
why  God  afflicts  us,  why  he  sent  the  sorrow  to 
us,  just  what  he  wants  it  to  do  for  us.  We 
must  trust  God  to  work  out  in  us  what  he  wants 
the  grief  to  do  for  us.  We  need  not  trouble 
ourselves  to  know  what  he  is  doing. 

Mercifully  our  old  duties  come  again  after 
sorrow  just  as  before,  and  we  must  take  these 
all  up,  only  putting  into  them  more  heart,  more 
reverence  toward  God,  more  gentleness  and 
love  toward  man.  As  we  go  on  we  shall  know 
what  God  meant  the  grief  to  do  for  us ;  or  if 
not  in  this  world,  we  shall  in  that  home  of 
Light,  where  all  mystery  shall  be  explained, 
and  where  we  shall  see  love's  lesson  plain  and 
clear  in  all  life's  strange  writing.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  sorrow  always  brings  us  an  oppor- 
tunity for  blessing.  Then  we  must  remember 
that  in  this  world  alone  can  we  get  the  good 
that  can  come  to  us  only  through  pain,  for  in 
the  life  beyond  death  there  is  to  be  no  sorrow, 
no  tears.  An  old  Eastern  proverb  says,  "  Spread 
wide  thy  skirts  when  heaven  is  raining  gold." 
Heaven  is  always  raining  gold  when  we  are  sit- 


1 1 4      THE  INTERPRET  TA  TION  OE  S  ORR  O I V. 

ting  under  the  shadow  of  the  cross.  We  should 
diligently  improve  the  opportunity,  and  learn  the 
lessons  he  would  teach  and  get  the  blessings 
he  would  give,  for  the  time  is  short. 

*'  But  if,  impatient,  thou  let  slip  thy  cross, 
Thou  wilt  not  find  it  in  this  world  again, 
Nor  in  another ;  here,  and  here  alone, 
Is  given  thee  to  suffer  for  God's  sake. 
In  other  worlds  we  shall  more  perfectly 
Serve  him  and  love  him,  praise  him,  work  for  him, 
Grow  near  and  nearer  him  with  all  delight ; 
But  there  we  shall  not  any  more  be  called 
To  suffer,  which  is  our  appointment  here." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

OTHER  PEOPLE. 

"We  need  —  e^ch  and  all  —  to  be  needed, 
To  feel  we  have  something  to  give 
Towards  soothing  the  moan  of  earth's  hunger; 

And  we  know  that  then  only  we  live 
When  we  feed  one  another,  as  we  have  been  fed 
From  the  hand  that  gives  body  and  spirit  their  bread." 

—  Lucy  Larcom. 

There  are  other  people.  We  are  not  the 
only  ones.  Some  of  the  others  live  close  to  us, 
and  some  farther  away.  We  stand  in  certain 
relations  to  these  other  people.  They  have 
claims  upon  us.  We  owe  them  duties,  serv- 
ices, love.  We  cannot  cut  ourselves  off  from 
them,  from  any  of  them,  saying  that  they  are 
nothing  to  us.  We  cannot  rid  ourselves  of 
obligations  to  them  and  say  we  owe  them 
nothing.  So  inexorable  is  this  relation  to 
others  that  in  all  the  broad  earth  there  is  not 
an  individual  who  has  no  right  to  come  to  us 

115 


Il6  OTHER  PEOPLE. 

with  his  needs,  claiming  at  our  hand  the 
ministry  of  love.  The  other  people  are  our 
brothers,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  that  we 
have  a  right  to  despise,  or  neglect,  or  hurt,  or 
thrust  away  from  our  door. 

We  ought  to  train  ourselves  to  think  of  the 
other  people.  We  may  not  leave  them  out  of 
any  of  the  plans  that  we  make.  We  must 
think  of  their  interests  and  good  when  we  are 
thinking  of  our  own.  They  have  rights  as  well 
as  ourselves,  and  we  must  think  of  these  when 
asserting  our  own.  No  man  may  set  his  fence 
a  hair's  breadth  over  the  line  on  his  neighbor's 
ground.  No  man  may  gather  even  a  head  of 
his  neighbor's  wheat,  or  a  cluster  of  grapes 
from  his  neighbor's  vine.  No  man  may  enter 
his  neighbor's  door  unbidden.  No  man  may 
do  anything  that  will  harm  his  neighbor. 
Other  people  have  inalienable  rights  which  we 
may  not  invade. 

We  owe  other  people  more  than  their  rights  ; 
we  owe  them  love.  To  some  of  them  it  is  not 
hard  to  pay  this  debt.  They  are  lovable  and 
winsome.      They    are    thoroughly    respectable. 


OTHER  PEOPLE.  WJ 

They  are  congenial  spirits,  giving  us  in  return 
quite  as  much  as  we  can  give  them.  It  is 
natural  to  love  these  and  be  very  kindly  and 
gentle  to  them.  But  we  have  no  liberty  oj 
selection  in  this  broad  duty  of  loving  other 
people.  We  may  not  choose  whom  we  shall 
love  if  we  claim  to  be  Christians.  The  Mas- 
ter's teaching  is  inexorable :  "  If  ye  love  them 
that  love  you,  what  thank  have  ye }  for  even 
sinners  love  those  that  love  them.  And  if  ye 
do  good  to  them  that  do  good  to  you,  what 
thank  have  ye  1  for  even  sinners  do  the  same. 
And  if  ye  lend  to  them  of  whom  ye  hope  to 
receive,  what  thank  have  ye }  even  sinners 
lend  to  sinners,  to  receive  again  as  much.  But 
love  your  enemies,  and  do  them  good,  and  lend, 
never  despairing ;  and  your  reward  shall  be 
great,  and  ye  shall  be  sons  of  the  Most  High; 
for  he  is  kind  toward  the  unthankful  and  evil." 
The  good  Samaritan  is  our  Lord's  answer  to 
the  question,  ''Who  is  my  neighbor.'*"  and 
the  good  Samaritan's  neighbor  was  a  bitter 
enemy,  who,  in  other  circumstances,  would  have 
spurned  him  from  his  presence.     Other  people 


Ilg  OTHER  PEOPLE. 

may  not  be  beautiful  in  their  character,  nor 
congenial  in  their  habits,  manners,  modes  of 
life,  or  disposition  ;  they  may  even  be  unkind 
to  us,  unjust,  unreasonable,  in  strict  justice 
altogether  undeserving  of  our  favor ;  yet  if  we 
persist  in  being  called  Christians  ourselves  we 
owe  them  the  love  that  thinketh  no  evil,  that 
seeketh  not  its  own,  that  beareth  all  things, 
endureth  all  things,  and  never  faileth. 

No  doubt  it  is  hard  to  love  the  other  people 
who  hate  us.  It  is  not  so  hard  just  to  let  them 
alone,  to  pass  them  by  without  harming  them, 
or  even  to  pray  for  them  in  a  way ;  but  to 
love  them  —  that  is  a  sore  test.  We  are  apt 
to  ask  :  — 

"  Dear  Lord,  will  it  not  do, 

If  we  return  not  wrong  for  wrong, 
And  neither  love  nor  hate? 

But  love  —  O  Lord,  our  souls  are  far  from  strong. 
And  love  is  such  a  tender,  home-nursed  dove  — 
How  can  we,  Lord,  our  enemies  bless  and  love  ? 

*♦  Fasting — Oh,  one  could  fast  — 

And  praying — one  could  most  pathetic  pray; 
But  love  our  enemies  !     Dear  Lord, 
Is  there  not  unto  thee  some  easier  way  — 


OTHER  PEOPLE.  ll^ 

Some  way  through  churchly  service,  song,  or  psalm, 
Or  ritual  grand,  to  reach  thy  heaven's  calm  ?  " 

But  there  comes  no  answer  of  Christly  indul- 
gence to  such  questions.  Other  people,  though 
they  be  our  enemies,  are  not  thus  taken  out  of 
the  circle  of  those  to  whom  we  owe  love.  Our 
part  is  always  pictured  for  us  in  the  example  of 
the  good  Samaritan. 

That  is,  we  owe  other  people  service.  Serv- 
ice goes  with  loving.  We  cannot  love  truly 
and  not  serve.  Love  without  serving  is  but  an 
empty  sentiment,  a  poor  mockery.  God  so 
loved  the  world  that  he  gave.  Love  always 
gives.  If  it  will  not  give  it  is  not  love.  It  is 
measured  always  by  what  it  will  give.  The 
needs  of  other  people  are  therefore  divine  com- 
mands to  us,  which  we  dare  not  disregard  or 
disobey.  To  refuse  to  bless  a  brother  who 
stands  before  us  in  any  kind  of  want  is  as  great 
a  sin  as  to  break  one  of  the  positive  command- 
ments of  the  Decalogue.  Indeed,  in  a  sense, 
it  is  the  breaking  of  the  whole  second  table  of 
the  commandments  —  the  sense  of  which  is, 
"Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 


120  OTHER  PEOPLE. 

We  like  to  think  there  is  no  sin  in  mere  not 
doing.  But  Jesus,  in  his  wonderful  picture  of 
the  Last  Judgment,  makes  men's  condemna- 
tion turn  on  not  doing  the  things  they  ought 
to  have  done.  They  have  simply  not  fed  the 
hungry,  not  clothed  the  naked,  not  visited  the 
sick,  not  blessed  the  prisoner.  To  make  these 
sins  of  neglect  appear  still  more  grievous,  our 
Lord  makes  a  personal  matter  of  each  case, 
puts  himself  in  the  place  of  the  sufferer  who 
needs  it  and  is  not  cared  for,  and  tells  us  that 
all  neglects  to  give  needed  kindness  to  any  are 
shown  to  him.  This  divine  word  gives  a  tre- 
mendous interest  to  other  people,  who  are 
brought  providentially  into  the  sphere  of  our 
life,  so  that  their  wants  of  whatever  kind  may 
make  appeal  to  our  sympathy  and  kindness. 
To  neglect  them  is  to  neglect  Christ.  He 
sends  them  to  us.  They  represent  him.  To 
turn  them  away  is  to  turn  him  away. 

This  matter  of  serving  has  multitudinous 
forms.  Sometimes  it  is  poverty  that  stands 
at  our  gate,  and  money  help  is  wanted.  A 
thousand   times   more   frequently,    however,   it 


OTHER  PEOPLE.  \1X 

is  not  money,  but  something  else  more  precious, 
that  we  must  give.  It  may  be  loving  sympa- 
thy. Sorrow  is  before  us.  Another's  heart 
is  breaking.  Money  would  be  of  no  use  ;  it 
would  be  only  a  bitter  mockery  to  offer  it.  But 
we  can  hold  to  the  neighbor's  lips  a  cup  of  the 
wine  of  love,  filled  out  of  our  own  heart,  which 
will  give  new  strength  to  the  sufferer.  Or  it 
is  the  anguish  of  a  life  struggle,  a  human 
Gethsemane,  beside  which  we  are  called  to 
watch.  We  can  give  no  actual  aid — the  soul 
must  fight  its  battles  alone ;  but  we  can  be  as 
the  angel  that  ministered  in  our  Lord's  Geth- 
semane, imparting  strength,  and  helping  the 
weary  struggler  to  win  the  victory. 

The  world  is  very  full  of  sorrow  and  trial, 
and  we  cannot  live  among  our  fellow-men  and 
be  true  without  sharing  their  loads.  If  we  are 
happy  we  must  hold  the  lamp  of  our  happiness 
so  that  its  beams  will  fall  upon  the  shadowed 
heart.  If  we  have  no  burden  it  is  our  duty  to 
put  our  shoulders  under  the  load  of  others. 
Selfishness  must  die  or  else  our  own  heart's 
life  must  be  frozen  within  us.     We  soon  learn 


122  OTHER  PEOPLE. 

that  we  cannot  live  for  ourselves  and  be  Chris- 
tians ;  that  the  blessings  that  are  given  to  us 
are  really  for  other  people,  and  that  we  are 
only  God's  ministers,  to  carry  them  in  Christ's 
name  to  those  for  whom  they  are  intended. 

We  begin  to  felicitate  ourselves  upon  some 
special  prosperity,  and  the  next  moment  some 
human  need  knocks  at  our  door,  and  we  must 
share  our  good  things  with  a  suffering  brother. 
We  may  build  up  our  fine  theories  of  taking 
care  of  ourselves,  of  living  for  the  future,  of 
laying  up  in  the  summer  of  prosperity  for  the 
winter  of  adversity,  of  providing  for  old  age  or 
for  our  children ;  but  ofttimes  all  these  frugal 
and  economic  plans  have  to  yield  to  the 
exigencies  of  human  need.  The  love  that 
seeketh  not  its  own  plays  havoc  with  life's  hard 
logic,  and  with  the  plans  of  mere  self-interest. 
We  cannot  say  that  anything  is  our  own  when 
our  brother  is  suffering  for  what  we  can  give. 

'*  Herein  is  love:  to  strip  the  shoulders  bare. 
If  need  be,  that  a  frailer  one  may  wear 
A  mantle  to  protect  it  from  the  storm ; 
To  bear  the  frost-king's  breath  so  one  be  warm; 


OTHER  PEOPLE.  1 23 

To  crush  the  tears  it  would  be  sweet  to  shed, 
And  smile  so  others  may  have  joy  instead. 

'*  Herein  is  love:  to  daily  sacrifice 
The  hope  that  to  the  bosom  closest  lies ; 
To  mutely  bear  reproach  and  suffer  wrong, 
Nor  lift  the  voice  to  show  where  both  belong; 
Nay,  now,  nor  tell  it  e'en  to  God  above  — 
Herein  is  love  indeed,  herein  is  love." 

Not  a  day  passes  in  the  commonest  ex- 
periences of  life,  in  which  other  people  do  not 
stand  before  us  with  their  needs,  appealing  to 
us  for  some  service  which  we  may  render  to 
them.  It  may  be  only  ordinary  courtesy,  the 
gentle  kindness  of  the  home  circle,  the  patient 
treatment  of  neighbors  or  customers  in  busi- 
ness relations,  the  thoughtful  showing  of  in- 
terest in  old  people  or  in  children.  On  all 
sides  the  lives  of  others  touch  ours,  and  we 
cannot  do  just  as  we  please,  thinking  only  of 
ourselves,  and  our  own  comfort  and  good,  unless 
we  choose  to  be  false  to  all  the  instincts  of 
humanity,  and  all  the  requirements  of  the  law 
of  Christian  love.  We  must  think  continually 
of  other  people. 


124  OTHER  PEOPLE. 

We  may  not  seek  our  own  pleasure  in  any 
way  without  asking  whether  it  will  harm  or  mar 
the  comfort  of  some  other  one.  For  example, 
we  must  think  of  other  people's  convenience  in 
the  exercise  of  our  own  liberty  and  in  the  indul- 
gence of  our  own  tastes  and  desires.  It  may 
be  pleasant  for  us  to  lie  late  in  bed  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  we  may  be  inclined  to  regard  the  habit 
as  only  a  little  amiable  self-indulgence.  But 
there  is  a  more  serious  side  to  the  practice.  It 
breaks  the  harmonious  flow  of  the  household 
life.  It  causes'  confusion  in  the  family  plans 
for  the  day.  It  makes  extra  work  for  faithful 
housekeepers  or  servants.  It  sorely  tries  the 
patience  of  love. 

The  other  day  an  important  committee  of 
fifteen  was  kept  waiting  for  ten  minutes  for  one 
tardy  member,  whose  presence  was  necessary 
before  anything  could  be  done.  At  last  he 
came  sauntering  in  without  even  an  apology  for 
having  caused  fourteen  busy  men  a  loss  of  time 
that  to  them  was  very  valuable,  besides  having 
put  a  sore  strain  on  their  patience  and  good 
nature.     We  have  no  right  to  forget  or  disre- 


OTHER  PEOPLE.  125 

gard  the  convenience  of  others.  A  conscien- 
tious application  of  the  Golden  Rule  would  cure 
us  of  all  such  carelessness. 

These  are  but  illustrations  of  the  way  other 
people  impinge  upon  our  life.  They  are  so 
close  to  us  that  we  cannot  move  without  touch- 
ing them.  We  cannot  speak  but  that  our  words 
affect  others.  We  cannot  act  in  the  simplest 
things  without  first  thinking  whether  what  we 
are  about  to  do  will  help  or  hurt  others.  We 
are  but  one  of  a  great  family,  and  we  dare  not 
live  for  ourselves.  We  must  never  forget  that 
there  are  other  people. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    BLESSING    OF    FAITHFULNESS. 

*'  It  must  be  done  by  both ;  God  never  without  me, 

I  never  without  God." 

—  Johannes  Scheffler. 

** Faithful  servant"  will  be  the  commenda- 
tion on  the  judgment-day  of  those  who  have 
lived  well  on  the  earth.  Not  great  deeds  will 
be  commended,  but  faithfulness.  The  smallest 
ministries  will  rank  with  the  most  conspicuous, 
if  they  are  all  that  the  weak  hands  could  do. 
Indeed,  the  widow's  two  mites  were  more  in 
value  than  the  rich  men's  large  coins. 

*'  Two  mites,  two  drops,  but  all  her  house  and  land 
Fell  from  an  earnest  heart  but  trembling  hand ; 
The  others'  wanton  wealth  foamed  high  and  brave ; 
The  others  cast  away,  she  only  gave." 

Yet  faithfulness  as  a  measure  of  requirement 
is  not  something  that  can  be  reached  without 
effort.     It  does  not  furnish  a  pillow  for  indo- 
W 


THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS.       12/ 

lence.  It  is  not  a  letting  down  of  obligation  to 
a  low  standard,  to  make  life  easy.  It  is  indeed 
a  lofty  measurement.  **  Thou  hast  been  faith- 
ful "  is  the  highest  possible  commendation. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  look  a  little  at  the 
meaning  of  the  word  as  a  standard  of  moral 
requirement.  In  general,  it  implies  the  doing 
of  all  our  work  as  well  as  we  can.  All  our 
work  includes,  of  course,  our  business,  our  trade, 
our  household  duties,  all  our  daily  task-work,  as 
well  as  our  praying,  our  Bible-reading,  and  our 
obeying  of  the  moral  law.  We  must  not  make 
the  mistake  of  thinking  that  there  is  no  relig- 
ion in  the  way  we  do  the  common  work  of  our 
trade  or  of  our  household,  or  our  work  on  the 
farm,  or  in  the  mill  or  store.  The  faithfulness 
Christ  requires  and  commends  takes  in  all  these 
things.  Ofttimes,  too,  it  would  be  easier  to  be 
faithful  in  some  great  trial,  requiring  sublimity 
of  courage,  than  in  the  little  unpicturesque 
duties  of  an  ordinary  day.  Says  Phillips  Brooks : 
"  You  picture  to  yourself  the  beauty  of  bravery 
and  steadfastness.  You  let  your  imagination 
wander  in  delight  over  the  memory  of  martyrs 


128       THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS. 

who  have  died  for  truth.  And  then  some  little, 
wretched,  disagreeable  duty  comes,  which  is 
your  martyrdom,  the  lamp  of  your  oil ;  and  if 
you  will  not  do  it,  how  your  oil  is  spilt !  How 
flat  and  thin  and  unilluminated  your  sentiment 
about  the  martyrs  runs  out  over  your  self-indul- 
gent life!" 

Lovers  of  the  violin  are  familiar  with  the 
name  of  Stradivarius,  the  old  violin-maker  of 
Cremona.  He  has  been  dead  nearly  two  hun- 
dred years,  and  his  violins  now  bring  fabulous 
prices.  George  Eliot,  in  one  of  her  poems,  puts 
some  noble  words  into  the  mouth  of  the  old 
man.  Speaking  of  the  masters  who  will  play 
on  his  violins,  he  says  :  — 

*'  While  God  gives  them  skill, 
I  give  them  instruments  to  play  upon, 
God  choosing  me  to  help  him." 

Referring  to  another  violin-maker,  his  rival, 

he  says :  — 

*'  But  were  his  the  best, 

He  could  not  work  for  two. 
k 

My  work  is  mme, 

And,  heresy  or  not,  if  my  hand  slacked, 


THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS.       1 29 

I  should  rob  God  —  since  he  is  fullest  good  — 
Leaving  a  blank  instead  of  violins, 
I  say,  not  God  himself  can  make  man's  best 
Without  best  men  to  help  him. 

'Tis  God  gives  skill, 
But  not  without  men's  hands. 
He  could  not  make 
Antonio  Stradivari's  violins 
Without  Antonio." 

At  first  reading  these  words  may  indeed  seem 
heretical  and  irreverent,  but  they  are  not.  It 
is  true,  indeed,  that  even  God  cannot  do  our 
work  without  us,  without  our  skill,  our  faithful- 
ness. If  we  fail  or  do  our  little  duty  negli- 
gently, there  will  be  a  blank  or  a  blur  where 
there  ought  to  have  been  something  beautiful. 
As  another  says,  ''The  universe  is  not  quite 
perfect  without  my  work  well  done." 

One  man  is  a  carpenter.  God  has  called  him 
to  that  work.  It  is  his  duty  to  build  houses, 
and  to  build  them  well.  That  is,  he  is  required 
to  be  a  good  carpenter,  to  do  the  very  best 
work  he  can  possibly  do.  If,  therefore,  he 
does  careless  work,  imperfect,  dishonest,  slurred. 


130        THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS. 

slighted  work,  he  is  robbing  God,  leaving  only 
bad  carpentering  where  he  ought  to  have  left 
good.  For  even  God  himself  will  not  build 
the  carpenter's  houses  without  the  carpenter. 
Or,  here  is  a  mother  in  a  home.  Her  children 
are  about  her,  with  their  needs.  Her  home 
requires  her  skill,  her  taste,  her  refinement, 
her  toil  and  care.  It  is  her  calling  to  be  a 
good  mother,  and  to  make  a  true  home  for 
her  household.  Her  duty  is  to  do  always  her 
very  best  to  make  her  home  beautiful,  bright, 
happy,  a  fit  place  for  her  children  to  grow  up 
in.  Faithfulness  requires  that  she  do  always 
such  service  as  a  mother,  that  Jesus  shall  say 
of  her  home-making,  ''  She  hath  done  what 
she  could."  To  do  less  than  her  best  is  to 
fail  in  fidelity.  Suppose  that  her  hand  should 
slack,  that  she  should  grow  negligent,  would 
she  not  clearly  be  robbing  God .''  For  even 
God  cannot  make  a  beautiful  home  for  her 
children  without  her. 

So  we  may  apply  the  principle  to  all  kinds 
of  work.  The  faithfulness  which  God  requires 
must  reach  to  everything  we  do,  to  the  way 


THE  BLESSING   OF  FAITHFULNESS.       13 1 

the  child  gets  its  lessons  and  recites  them,  to 
the  way  the  dressmaker  and  the  tailor  sew 
their  seams,  to  the  way  the  blacksmith  welds 
the  iron,  and  shoes  the  horse,  to  the  way  the 
plumber  puts  the  pipes  into  the  new  building 
and  looks  after  the  drainage,  to  the  way  the 
carpenter  does  his  work  on  the  house,  to  the 
way  the  bridge-builder  swings  the  bridge  over 
the  stream,  to  the  way  the  clerk  represents 
the  goods,  and  measures  or  weighs  them.  "  Be 
thou  faithful "  is  the  word  that  rings  from 
heaven  in  every  ear,  God's  word  for  the  doing 
of  every  piece  of  work  that  any  one  does.  How 
soon  it  would  put  a  stop  to  all  dishonesty,  all 
fraud,  all  scant  work,  all  false  weights  and  meas- 
ures, all  shams,  all  neglects  or  slightings  of 
duty,  were  this  lesson  only  learned  and  prac- 
ticed everywhere ! 

*'It  does  not  matter,"  people  say,  "whether 
I  do  my  little  work  well  or  not.  Of  course  I 
must  not  steal,  nor  lie,  nor  commit  forgery, 
nor  break  the  Sabbath.  These  are  moral 
things.  But  there  is  no  sin  in  my  sewing  up 
this  seam  carelessly,  or  in  my  using  bad  mortar 


132      THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS. 

in  this  wall,  or  in  my  putting  inferior  timber 
in  this  house,  or  a  piece  of  flawed  iron  in 
this  bridge."  But  we  need  to  learn  that  the 
moral  law  applies  everywhere,  just  as  really  to 
carpentry,  or  blacksmithing,  or  tailoring,  as  to 
Sabbath-keeping.  We  never  can  get  away 
from  this  law. 

Besides,  it  does  matter,  for  our  neighbor's 
sake,  as  well  as  for  the  honor  of  God's  law, 
how  we  do  our  work.  The  bricklayer  does 
negligent  work  on  the  walls  of  the  flue  he  is 
putting  in,  and  one  night,  years  afterward,  a 
spark  creeps  through  the  crevice  and  reaches 
a  wooden  beam  that  lies  there,  and  soon  the 
house  is  in  flames  and  perhaps  precious  lives 
perish.  The  bricklayer  was  unfaithful.  The 
foundryworker,  in  casting  the  great  iron  sup- 
ports for  a  bridge,  is  unwatchful  for  an  instant, 
and  a  bubble  of  air  makes  a  flaw.  It  is  buried 
away  in  the  heart  of  the  beam  and  escapes 
detection.  One  day,  years  later,  there  is  a 
terrible  disaster.  A  great  railroad  bridge 
gives  way  beneath  the  weight  of  an  express 
train  and  hundreds  of  lives  are  lost.      In  the 


THE  BLESSING    OF  FAITHFULNESS.     133 

inquest  it  is  testified  that  a  slight  flaw  in  one 
beam  was  the  cause  of  the  awful  calamity 
which  hurled  so  many  lives  into  eternity.  The 
foundry  workman  was  unfaithful. 

These  are  but  suggestions  of  the  duty  and  of 
its  importance.  No  work  can  be  of  so  little 
moment  that  it  matters  not  whether  it  be  done 
faithfully  or  not.  Unfaithfulness  in  the  small- 
est things  is  unfaithfulness,  and  God  is  grieved, 
and  possibly  sometime,  somewhere,  disaster 
may  come  as  the  consequence  of  the  neglect. 
On  the  other  hand,  faithfulness  is  pleasing  to 
God,  though  it  be  only  in  the  sweeping  well  of 
a  room,  or  the  doing  neatly  of  the  smallest 
things  in  household  care.  Then  faithfulness  is 
far-reaching  in  its  influence.  The  universe  is 
not  quite  complete  without  each  one's  little 
work  well  done. 

The  self-culture  that  there  is  in  the  mere 
habit  of  faithfulness  is  in  itself  a  rich  reward 
for  all  our  striving.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  train 
ourselves  to  do  always  our  best,  to  do  as  nearly 
perfect  work  as  possible.  Said  Michael  Angelo : 
"  Nothing  makes  the  soul  so  pure,  so  religious, 


134        THE  BLESSING   OF  FAITHFULNESS. 

as  the  endeavor  to  create  something  perfect ; 
for  God  is  perfection,  and  whoever  strives  for 
it,  strives  for  something  that  is  Godlike."  The 
habit,  unyieldingly  persisted  in,  of  doing  every- 
thing with  the  most  scrupulous  conscientious- 
ness, builds  up  in  the  one  who  so  lives  a  noble 
and  beautiful  character. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

WITHOUT  AXE   OR  HAMMER. 

"Souls  are  built  as  temples  are, — 
Based  on  truth's  eternal  law, 
Sure  and  steadfast,  without  flaw, 
Through  the  sunshine,  through  the  snows, 
Up  and  on  the  building  goes; 
Every  fair  thing  finds  its  place. 
Every  hard  thing  lends  a  grace. 
Every  hand  may  make  or  mar." 

We  read  of  the  temple  of  Solomon,  when  it 
was  in  building,  that  it  was  built  of  stone  made 
ready  in  the  quarry,  so  that  neither  hammer  nor 
axe  nor  any  tool  of  iron  was  heard  in  the  house 
while  it  went  up. 

•'  No  workman's  steel,  no  ponderous  axes  rung; 
Like  some  tall  palm,  the  noiseless  fabric  sprung." 

So  it  is  that  the  great  work  of  spiritual  tem- 
ple-building goes  on  continually  in  this  world. 
We  are  all  really  silent  builders.     The  kingdom 

135 


136  WITHOUT  AXE   OR  HAMMER. 

of  God  Cometh  not  with  observation.  The 
divine  Spirit  works  in  silence,  changing  men's 
hearts,  transforming  Uves,  comforting  sorrow, 
kindUng  hope  in  darkened  bosoms,  washing 
scarlet  souls  white  as  snow.  The  preacher 
may  speak  with  the  voice  of  a  Boanerges,  but 
the  power  that  reaches  hearts  is  not  the  preach- 
er's noise ;  silently  the  divine  voice  whispers  in 
the  soul  its  secret  of  conviction,  or  of  hope,  or 
of  strength.  The  Lord  is  not  in  the  storm,  in 
the  earthquake,  in  the  fire,  but  in  the  sound  of 
gentleness,  the  spirit's  whisper,  that  breathes 
through  the  soul. 

Perhaps  the  best  work  any  of  U3  do  in  this 
world  is  that  which  we  do  without  noise. 
Words  give  forth  sound,  but  it  is  not  the 
sounds  that  do  good,  that  brighten  sad  faces  as 
people  listen,  that  change  tears  to  laughter, 
that  stimulate  hope,  that  put  courage  into  faint- 
ing hearts,  —  it  is  not  the  noise  of  our  words, 
but  the  thoughts  which  the  words  carry. 
Words  are  but  the  chattering  messengers  that 
bear  the  sealed  messages  ;  and  it  is  the  mes- 
sages that  help  and  comfort.     We  may  make 


WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAAIMER,  1 37 

noise  as  we  work,  but  it  is  not  our  noise  that 
builds  up  what  we  leave  in  beauty  behind  us. 
It  is  life  that  builds,  and  life  is  silent.  The 
force  that  works  in  our  homes  is  a  silent  force, 
— mother-love,  father-love,  patience,  gentleness, 
prayer,  truth,  the  influences  of  divine  grace. 

It  is  the  same  in  the  building  up  of  personal 
character  in  each  of  us.  There  may  be  a  great 
deal  of  noise  all  about  us,  but  it  is  in  silence 
that  we  grow.  From  a  thousand  sources  come 
the  little  blocks  that  are  laid  upon  the  walls,  — 
the  lessons  we  get  from  others,  the  influences 
friends  exert  upon  us,  the  truths  our  reading 
puts  into  our  minds,  the  impressions  life  leaves 
upon  us,  the  inspirations  we  receive  from  the 
divine  Spirit  —  ever  the  builders  are  at  work  on 
these  characters  of  ours,  but  they  work  silently, 
without  noise  of  hammer  or  axe. 

There  is  another  suggestion.  Down  in  the  dark 
quarries,  under  the  city,  the  men  wrought,  cut- 
ting, hewing,  polishing,  the  stones.  They  hung 
their  little  lamps  on  the  walls,  and  with  their 
hammers  and  chisels  they  hewed  away  at  the 
great  blocks.     Months  and  years  passed;  then 


138  WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER. 

one  day  there  was  a  grand  dedication,  and  there 
in  the  glorious  sunshine  all  the  secret,  obscure 
work  of  those  years  was  seen  in  its  final  beauty, 
amid  the  joy  of  a  nation.  If  the  men  who  had 
wrought  in  the  quarries  were  present  that  day, 
what  a  joy  it  must  have  been  to  them  to  think 
of  their  work  in  preparing  the  great  stones  for 
their  place  in  the  magnificent  building ! 

Here  is  a  parable.  This  world  is  the  quarry. 
We  are  toiling  away  in  the  darkness.  We  can- 
not see  what  good  is  ever  to  come  out  of  our 
lonely,  painful,  obscure  toil.  Yet  some  day  our 
quarry-work  will  be  manifested  in  the  glory  of 
heaven.  We  are  preparing  materials  now  and 
here  for  the  temple  of  the  great  King,  which  in 
heaven  is  slowly  rising  through  the  ages.  No 
noise  of  hammer  or  axe  is  heard  in  all  that  won- 
drous building,  because  the  stones  are  all  shaped 
and  polished  and  made  entirely  ready  in  this 
world. 

We  are  the  stones,  and  the  world  is  God's 
quarry.  The  stones  for  the  temple  were  cut 
out  of  the  great  rock  in  the  dark  underground 
cavern.  They  were  rough  and  shapeless.  Then 
they  were  dressed  into  form,  and  this  required  a 


WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER.  139 

great  deal  of  cutting,  hammering,  and  chiselling. 
Without  this  stern,  sore  work  on  the  stones,  not 
one  of  them  could  ever  have  filled  a  place  in  the 
temple.  At  last  when  they  were  ready  they 
were  lifted  out  of  the  dark  quarry  and  carried 
up  to  the  mountain-top,  where  the  temple  was 
rising,  and  were  laid  in  their  place. 

We  are  stones  in  the  quarry  as  yet.  When 
we  accepted  Christ  we  were  cut  from  the  great 
mass  of  rock.  But  we  were  yet  rough  and  un- 
shapely, not  fit  for  heaven.  Before  we  can  be 
ready  for  our  place  in  the  heavenly  temple  we 
must  be  hewn  and  shaped.  The  hammer  must 
do  its  work,  breaking  off  the  roughnesses.  The 
chisel  must  be  used,  carving  and  polishing  our 
lives  into  beauty.  This  work  is  done  in  the 
many  processes  of  life.  Every  sinful  thing, 
every  fault  in  our  character,  is  a  rough  place  in 
the  stone,  which  must  be  chiselled  off.  All  the 
crooked  lines  must  be  straightened.  Our  lives 
must  be  cut  and  hewn  until  they  conform  to  the 
perfect  standard  of  divine  truth. 

Quarry-work  is  not  always  pleasant.  If  stones 
had  hearts  and  sensibilities,  they  would  some- 


I40  WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER. 

times  cry  out  in  sore  pain  as  they  feel  the  ham- 
mer strokes  and  the  deep  cutting  of  the  chisel. 
Yet  the  workman  must  not  heed  their  cries  and 
withdraw  his  hand,  else  they  would  at  last  be 
thrown  aside  as  worthless  blocks,  never  to  be 
built  into  the  place  of  honor. 

We  are  not  stones ;  we  have  hearts  and  sensi- 
bilities, and  we  do  cry  out  ofttimes  as  the  ham- 
mer smites  away  the  roughnesses  in  our  charac- 
ter. But  we  must  yield  to  the  sore  work  and  let  it 
go  on,  or  we  shall  never  have  our  place  as  living 
stones  in  Christ's  beautiful  temple.  We  must 
not  wince  under  the  sharp  chiselling  of  sorrow. 
Says  Dr.  T.  T.  Hunger :  — 

*'  When  God  afflicts  thee,  think  he  hews  a  rugged  stone 
Which  must  be  shaped,  or  else  aside  as  useless  thrown." 

There  is  still  another  suggestion  from  this 
singular  temple-building.  Every  individual  life 
has  its  quarries  where  are  shaped  the  blocks 
which  afterward  are  built  into  character,  or 
which  take  form  in  acts.  Schools  are  the 
quarries,  where,  through  years  of  patient  study, 
the  materials  for  life  are  prepared,  the  mind  is 


WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER.  141 

disciplined,  habits  are  formed,  knowledge  is 
gained,  and  power  is  stored.  Later,  in  active 
life,  the  temple  rises  without  noise  of  hammer 
or  axe.  Homes  are  quarries  where  children  are 
trained,  where  moral  truth  is  lodged  in  the 
heart,  where  the  elements  of  character  are 
hewn  out  like  fair  stones,  to  appear  in  the  life 
in  after  days,  when  it  grows  up  among  men. 

Then  there  are  the  thought-quarries  back  of 
what  people  see  in  every  human  life.  Men  must 
be  silent  thinkers  before  their  words  or  deeds  can 
have  either  great  beauty  or  power.  Extempo- 
raneousness  anywhere  is  of  small  value.  Glib, 
easy  talkers,  who  are  always  ready  to  speak  on 
any  subject,  who  require  no  time  for  preparation, 
may  go  on  chattering  forever,  but  their  talk  is 
only  chatter.  The  words  that  are  worth  hearing 
come  out  of  thought-quarries  where  they  have 
been  wrought  ofttimes  in  struggle  and  anguish. 
Father  Ryan,  in  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  his 
poems,  writes  of  the  "valley  of  silence"  where 
he  prepares  the  songs  he  afterwards  sings :  — 

*'  In  the  hush  of  the  valley  of  silence 
I  dream  all  the  songs  that  I  sing; 


142  WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER. 

And  the  music  floats  down  the  dim  valley 
'Till  each  finds  a  word  for  a  wing, 

That  to  hearts,  like  the  dove  of  the  deluge, 
A  message  of  peace  they  may  bring." 

So  it  is  of  all  great  thoughts.  Thinkers  brood 
long  in  the  silence  and  then  come  forth  and 
their  eloquence  sways  us.  So  it  is  with  art. 
We  look  at  a  fine  picture  and  our  hearts  are 
warmed  by  its  wondrous  beauty.  But  do  we 
know  the  story  of  the  picture  t  Years  and 
years  of  thought  and  of  tireless  toil  lie  back  of 
its  enrapturing  beauty.  Or  here  is  a  book 
which  charms  you,  which  thrills  and  inspires 
you.  Great  thoughts  lie  on  its  pages.  Do  you 
know  the  book's  story  t  The  author  lived, 
struggled,  toiled,  suffered,  wept,  that  he  might 
write  the  words  which  now  help  you.  Back  of 
every  good  life-thought  which  blesses  men,  lies 
a  dark  quarry  where  the  thought  was  born  and 
shaped  into  the  beauty  of  form  which  makes  it 
a  blessing  to  the  world. 

Or  here  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  character. 
Goodness  appears  natural  to  it.  It  seems  easy 
for  the  man  to  be  noble  and  to  do  noble  things. 


WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER.  143 

But  again  the  quarry  is  back  of  the  temple. 
Each  one's  heart  is  the  quarry  out  of  which 
comes  all  that  the  person  builds  into  his  life. 
"  As  he  thinketh  in  his  heart  so  is  he."  Every- 
thing that  appears  in  our  lives  comes  out  of  our 
hearts.  All  our  acts  are  first  thoughts.  The 
artist's  picture,  the  poet's  poem,  the  singer's 
song,  the  architect's  building,  are  thoughts  be- 
fore they  are  wrought  out  into  forms  of  beauty. 
All  dispositions,  tempers,  feelings,  words,  and 
acts  start  in  the  heart.  If  the  workmen  had 
quarried  faulty  stones  in  the  caverns,  the  temple 
would  have  been  spoiled.  An  evil  heart,  with 
stained  thoughts,  impure  imaginings,  blurred 
feelings,  can  never  build  up  a  fair  and  lovely 
character. 

We  need  to  guard  our  heart-quarry  with  all 
diligence,  since  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life. 
The  thoughts  build  the  life  and  make  the  char- 
acter. White  thoughts  rear  up  a  beautiful  fabric 
before  God  and  man.  Soiled  thoughts  pile  up 
a  stained  life,  without  beauty  or  honor.  We 
should  look  well,  therefore,  to  our  heart-quarry, 
where  the  work  goes  on  in  the  darkness  without 


144  WITHOUT  AXE    OR  HAMMER. 

ceasing.  If  all  be  right  there  we  need  give  little 
concern  to  the  building  of  character.  Diligent 
heart-keeping  yields  a  life  unspotted  from  the 
world. 

A  little  child  had  been  reading  the  beatitudes, 
and  was  asked  which  of  the  qualities  named  in 
them  she  most  desired.  "  I  would  rather  be  pure 
in  heart,"  she  said.  When  asked  the  reason  for 
her  choice,  she  answered :  "  If  I  could  but  have 
a  pure  heart,  I  should  then  possess  all  the  other 
qualities  of  the  beatitudes  in  the  one."  The 
child  was  right.  A  pure  heart  will  build  a  beau- 
tiful life,  a  fit  temple  for  Christ,  Thinking  over 
God's  holy  thoughts  after  him  will  make  us  like 
God.  Thinking  habitually  about  Christ,  Christ's 
beauty  will  come  into  our  souls  and  shine  in  our 
faces. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

DOING  THINGS  FOR  CHRIST. 

"  We  can  best  minister  to  him  by  helping  them 
Who  dare  not  touch  his  hallowed  garment's  hem ; 
Their  lives  are  even  as  ours  —  one  piece,  one  plan. 
Him  know  we  not,  him  shall  we  never  know, 
Till  we  behold  him  in  the  least  of  these 
Who  suffer  or  who  sin.     In  sick  souls  he 
Lies  bound  and  sighing,  asks  our  sympathies; 
Their  grateful  eyes  thy  benison  bestow, 
Brother  and  Lord,  —  'Ye  did  it  unto  me.'" 

—  Lucy  Larcom. 

If  Christ  were  here,  we   say,  we   would   do 

many  things  for  him.     The  women   who  love 

him   would  gladly  minister  to  him  as  did  the 

women  who   followed  him  from  Galilee.     The 

men  who  are  his  friends  would  work  to  help 

him  in  any  ways  he  might  direct.     The  children 

who  are  trying  to  please  him  would  run  errands 

for  him.     We  all  say  we  would  be  delighted  to 

serve  him  if  only  he  would  come  again  to  our 

world   and  visit  our  homes.     But  we   can  do 

145 


146  DOING    THINGS  FOR   CHRIST. 

things  for  him  just  as  really  as  if  he  were  here 
again  in  human  form. 

One  way  of  doing  this  is  by  obeying  him.  He 
is  our  Lord.  Nothing  pleases  him  so  well  as 
our  obedience.  It  is  told  of  a  great  philosopher 
that  a  friend  called  one  day  to  see  him,  and  was 
entertained  by  the  philosopher's  little  daughter 
till  her  father  came  in.  The  friend  supposed 
that  the  child  of  so  wise  a  man  would  be  learn- 
ing something  very  deep.  So  he  asked  her, 
"  What  is  your  father  teaching  you .'' "  The 
little  maid  looked  up  into  his  face  with  her 
clear  eyes  and  said,  ''Obedience."  That  is  the 
one  great  lesson  our  Lord  is  teaching  us.  He 
wants  us  to  learn  obedience.  If  we  obey  him 
always  we  shall  always  be  doing  things  for  him. 

We  do  things  for  Christ  which  we  do  through 
love  to  him.  Even  obedience  without  love  does 
not  please  him.  But  the  smallest  services  we 
can  render,  if  love  inspire  them,  he  accepts. 
Thus  we  can  make  the  commonest  tasks  of  our 
lives  holy  ministries,  as  sacred  as  what  the 
angels  do.  There  is  a  legend  of  a  monk  who 
painted  in  an  old  convent-cell  pictures  of  mar- 


DOING    THINGS  FOR    CHRIST.  1 47 

tyrs  and  holy  saints  and  of  the  sweet  Christ- 
face  with  the  crown  of  thorns.  Men  called  his 
pictures  only  daubs. 

"  One  night  the  poor  monk  mused,  '  Could  I  but  render 
Honor  to  Christ  as  other  painters  do  — 
Were  but  my  skill  as  great  as  is  the  tender 
Love  that  inspires  me  when  his  cross  I  view.' 

" '  But  no ;  'tis  vain  I  toil  and  strive  in  sorrow ; 
What  man  so  scorns  still  less  can  He  admire ; 
My  life's  work  is  all  valueless ;  to-morrow 
I'll  cast  my  ill-wrought  pictures  in  the  fire.' 

"  He  raised  his  eyes  within  his  cell  —  O  wonder ! 
There  stood  a  Visitor ;  thorn-crowned  was  He ; 
And  a  sweet  voice  the  silence  rent  asunder : 
'I  scorn  no  work  that's  done  for  love  of  me.' 

"And  round  the  walls  the  paintings  shone  resplendent 
With  lights  and  colors  to  this  world  unknown, 
A  perfect  beauty  and  a  hue  transcendent, 
That  never  yet  on  mortal  canvas  shone." 

There  is  a  beautiful  meaning  in  the  old  leg- 
end. Christ  scorns  no  work  that  is  done  for 
love  of  him.  Most  of  us  have  much  drudgery 
in  our  lives,  but  even  this  we  can  make  glorious 
by  doing  it  through  love  for  Christ. 


148  DOING    THINGS  FOR    CHRIST.  . 

Things  we  do  for  others  in  Christ's  name,  are 
done  for  him.  We  all  remember  that  wonder- 
ful "  inasmuch  "  in  the  twenty-fifth  of  Matthew. 
If  we  find  the  sick  one,  or  the  poor  one,  and  go 
and  minister,  as  we  may  be  able,  as  unto  the 
Lord,  the  deed  is  accepted  as  if  done  to  him 
in  person.  Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston,  in  one  of 
her  beautiful  poems,  tells  of  a  weary  sister 
who  grieved  sorely  because,  as  it  seemed  to  her, 
she  had  not  been  able  to  do  any  work  for  Christ. 
By  a  mother's  dying  bed  she  had  promised  to 
care  for  her  little  sister,  and  her  work  for  the 
child  so  filled  her  hands  that  she  had  not  time 
for  anything  else.  As  she  grieved  thus  once, 
the  little  sister  sleeping  beside  her  stirred  and 
told  her  of  a  sweet,  strange  dream  she  had  had. 
She  thought  her  sister  was  sitting  sad  because 
the  King  had  bidden  each  one  to  bring  him  a  gift. 

"And  in  my  dream  I  saw  you  there, 
And  heard  you  say,  '  No  hands  can  bear 
A  gift,  that  are  so  filled  with  care.' 

"'What  care?'  the  King  said,  and  he  smiled 
To  hear  you  answer,  wailing  wild, 
*  I  only  toil  to  feed  a  chil4.' 


DOING    THINGS  FOR   CHRIST.  1 49 

"And  then  with  such  a  look  divine 
('Twas  that  awaked  me  with  its  shine). 
He  whispered,  'But  the  child  is  mine.'" 

There  are  many  for  whom  this  little  story- 
poem  should  have  sweet  comfort.  There  are 
fathers  and  mothers  who  find  it  hard  to  provide 
for  their  children.  It  takes  all  their  time  and 
strength,  and  sometimes  they  say,  "I  cannot 
do  any  work  for  Christ,  because  it  takes  every 
moment  to  earn  bread  and  clothing  for  my 
little  ones,  and  to  care  for  them."  But  Jesus 
whispers,  "  Yes ;  yet  your  children  are  mine, 
and  what  you  do  for  them  you  do  for  me." 

There  is  in  a  home  an  invalid  who  requires 
all  the  time  and  thought  of  another  member  of 
the  household  in  loving  attention.  It  may  be 
an  aged  parent  needing  the  help  of  a  child ; 
it  may  be  a  child,  crippled,  blind,  or  sick,  need- 
ing all  a  parent's  care ;  or  it  may  be  a  brother 
broken  in  health  on  whom  a  sister  is  called  to 
wait  continually  with  patient  love.  And  some- 
times those  who  are  required  thus  to  spend 
their  days  and  nights  in  ministry  for  others 
feel  that  their  lives  count  for  nothing  in  work 


150  DOING   THINGS  FOR    CHRIST. 

for  Christ.  They  hear  the  appeals  for  laborers 
and  for  service,  but  cannot  respond.  Their 
hands  are  already  filled.  Yet  Jesus  whispers, 
"These  for  whom  you  are  toiling,  caring,  and 
spending  time  and  strength  are  mine,  and  in 
doing  for  them  you  are  doing  for  me  just  as 
acceptable  work  as  are  those  who  are  toiling 
without  distraction  or  hindrance  in  the  great 
open  field." 

Sometimes  the  work  we  do  for  Christ  with 
purest  love  fails,  or  seems  to  fail  of  result. 
Nothing  appears  to  come  of  it.  There  are 
whole  lifetimes  of  godly  people  that  seem  to 
yield  nothing.  A  word  ought  to  be  said  about 
this  kind  of  doing  for  Christ.  We  are  to  set  it 
down  as  true  without  exception,  that  no  work 
wrought  in  Christ's  name  and  with  love  for  him 
is  ever  lost.  What  we,  in  our  limited,  short- 
sighted vision,  planned  to  do  may  not  be  accom- 
plished, but  God's  purpose  goes  on  in  every 
consecrated  life,  in  every  true  deed  done.  The 
disciples  thought  that  Mary's  costly  ointment 
was  wasted.  So  it  seemed  ;  but  this  world  has 
been  a  little  sweeter  ever  since  the  breaking  of 


DOING    THINGS  FOR    CHRIST.  15  i 

the  vase  that  let  the  perfume  escape  into  its 
common  air.  So  it  is  with  many  things  that 
are  done,  and  many  Hves  that  are  Hved.  They 
seem  to  fail,  and  there  is  nothing  on  the  earth 
to  show  where  they  have  been.  Yet  somehow 
the  stock  of  human  happiness  is  larger  and  the 
world  is  a  little  better. 

Our  work  for  Christ  that  fails  in  what  we 
intended  may  yet  leave  a  blessing  in  some  other 
way.  A  faithful  Bible-class  teacher  through 
many  months  visited  a  young  man,  a  member 
of  her  class,  in  sickness.  She  read  the  Bible 
to  him  and  sang  sweet  hymns  and  prayed  by 
his  bedside.  He  was  not  a  Christian  and  she 
hoped  that  he  would  be  led  to  Christ.  But  at 
length  he  recovered  and  went  out  again, 
unchanged,  or  even  more  indifferent  than  ever 
to  his  spiritual  interests.  All  the  faithful 
teacher's  work  seemed  to  have  been  in  vain. 
Then  she  learned  that  a  frail,  invalid  girl,  living 
in  an  adjoining  house,  had  been  brought  to 
Christ  through  the  loving  work  done  for  the 
careless  scholar.  The  songs  sung  by  the  sick 
man's  bedside,  and  which  seemed  to  have  left 


152  DOING    THINGS  FOR    CHRIST. 

no    blessing    in    his    heart,    had    been    heard 
through  the  thin  wall  of  the  house  in  the  girl's 
sick-room,  and  had  told  her  of  the  love  of  the> 
Saviour. 

The  records  of  Christian  ministry  are  full  of 
such  good  work  done  unintentionally.  Failing 
to  leave  a  blessing  where  it  was  hoped  a  bless- 
ing would  be  received,  it  blessed  some  other 
life.  We  may  not  say  that  any  good  work  has 
failed  until  we  know  in  the  last  great  harvest  all 
the  results  of  the  things  we  have  done  and  the 
words  we  have  spoken. 

*'  Not  all  who  seem  to  fail  have  failed  indeed ; 

Not  all  who  fail  have  therefore  worked  in  vain ; 
For  all  our  acts  to  many  issues  lead ; 

And  out  of  earnest  purpose,  pure  and  plain, 

Enforced  by  honest  toil  of  hand  or  brain, 
The  Lord  will  fashion  in  his  own  good  time 
(Be  this  the  laborer's  proudly  humble  creed), 
Such  ends  as  in  his  wisdom,  fitliest  chime 

With  his  vast  love's  eternal  harmonies. 

There  is  no  failure  for  the  good  and  wise ; 
What  though  thy  seed  should  fall  by  the  wayside, 

And  the  birds  snatch  it  ?  —  Yet  the  birds  are  fed ; 
Or  they  may  bear  it  far  across  the  tide. 

To  give  rich  harvests  after  thou  art  dead." 


DOING    THINGS  POR    CHRIST.  153 

Many  people  die,  and  see  yet  no  harvest  from 
their  life's  sowing.  They  come  to  the  end  of 
their  years,  and  their  hands  are  empty.  But 
when  they  enter  heaven  they  will  find  that  they 
have  really  been  building  there  all  the  while, 
that  the  things  that  have  seemed  to  leave  no 
result  on  the  earth  have  left  glorious  results 
inside  the  gates  of  joearl. 

**  There  is  no  end  to  the  sky, 

And  the  stars  are  everywhere, 
And  time  is  eternity, 

And  the  here  is  over  there  ; 
For  the  common  deeds  of  the  common  day 
Are  ringing  bells  in  the  far  away." 

Then  even  if  the  work  we  do  does  not  itself 
leave  any  record,  the  doing  of  it  leaves  a  record 
—  an  impression  —  on  our  own  life.  There  is 
a  word  of  Scripture  which  says,  "  He  that 
doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever."  Doing 
God's  will  builds  up  enduring  character  in  us. 
Every  obedience  adds  a  new  touch  of  beauty  to 
the  soul.  Every  true  thing  we  do  in  Christ's 
name,  though  it  leave  no  mark  anywhere  else  in 
God's  universe,  leaves  an  imperishable  mark  on 


154  DOING   THINGS  FOR  CHRIST. 

our  own  life.  Every  deed  of  unselfish  kindness 
that  we  perform  with  love  for  Christ  in  our 
heart,  though  it  bless  no  other  soul  in  all  the 
world,  leaves  its  sure  benediction  on  ourselves. 

Thousands  of  years  since  a  leaf  fell  on  the 
soft  clay  and  seemed  to  be  lost.  But  last  sum- 
mer a  geologist  in  his  ramblings  broke  off  a 
piece  of  rock  with  his  hammer,  and  there  lay 
the  image  of  the  leaf,  with  every  line,  and 
every  vein,  and  all  the  delicate  tracery,  pre- 
served in  the  stone  through  these  centuries. 
So  the  words  we  speak,  and  the  things  we  do  for 
Christ  to-day,  may  seem  to  be  lost,  but  in  the 
great  final  revealing  the  smallest  of  them  will 
appear,  to  the  glory  of  Christ  and  the  reward  of 
the  doer. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

HELPING   AND   OVER-HELPING. 

"  As  we  meet  and  touch  each  day 
The  many  travellers  on  our  way, 
Let  every  such  brief  contact  be 
A  glorious,  helpful  ministry; 
The  contact  of  the  soil  and  seed, 
Each  giving  to  the  other's  need, 
Each  helping  on  the  other's  best, 
And  blessing  each  as  well  as  blest." 

Even  kindness  may  be  overdone.  One  may 
be  too  gentle.  Love  may  hold  others  back 
from  duty,  and  thus  may  wreck  destinies.  We 
need  to  guard  against  meddling  with  God's  dis- 
cipline, softening  the  experience  that  he  means 
to  be  hard,  sheltering  our  friend  from  the  wind 
that  he  intends  to  blow  chillingly.  All  summer 
does  not  make  a  good  zone  to  live  in  ;  we  need 
autumn  and  winter  to  temper  the  heat,  and 
keep  vegetation  from  luxuriant  overgrowth. 
The   best  thing  we   can  do  for  others  is  not 

155 


156  HELPING  AND   OVER-HELPING, 

always  to  take  their  load  or  do  their  duty  for 
them. 

Of  course  we  are  to  be  helpful  to  others. 
No  aim  should  be  put  higher  in  our  life-plans 
than  that  of  personal  helpfulness.  The  motto 
of  the  true  Christian  cannot  be  other  than 
that  of  the  Master:  "Not  to  be  ministered 
unto,  but  to  minister."  Even  in  the  ambition 
to  gather  and  retain  wealth,  the  spirit  of  the 
desire  must  be,  if  we  are  Christians  at  all,  that 
thereby  we  may  become  more  helpful  to  others ; 
that  through,  or  by  means  of,  our  wealth,  we 
may  be  enabled  to  do  larger  and  greater  good. 
Whatever  gift,  power,  or  possession  we  have 
that  we  do  not  seek  to  use  in  this  way  is  not 
yet  truly  devoted  to  God.  Fruit  is  the  test  of 
character,  and  the  purpose  of  fruit  is  not  to 
adorn  the  tree  or  vine,  but  to  feed  hunger. 
Whatever  we  are,  whatever  we  have,  is  fruit, 
and  must  be  held  for  the  feeding  of  the  hunger 
of  others.  Thus  personal  helpfulness  is  the 
aim  of  all  truly  consecrated  life.  In  so  far  as 
we  are  living  for  ourselves,  we  are  not  Chris- 
tians. 


HELPING  AND    OVER-HELPING,  I  57 

Then  there  are  many  ways  of  helping  others. 
Some  people  help  us  in  material  ways.  It  is  a 
still  higher  kind  of  help  which  we  get  from 
those  who  minister  to  our  mental  needs, 
who  write  the  books  which  charm,  instruct, 
and  entertain  us.  Mind  is  greater  than  body. 
Bread,  and  clothing,  and  furniture,  and  houses 
will  not  satisfy  our  intellectual  cravings.  There 
are  those,  however,  who  do  help  us  in  these 
loftier  ranges.  Music,  poetry,  and  art  minister 
both  to  our  gratification  and  our  culture.  Good 
books  bring  to  us  inestimable  benefits.  They 
tell  us  of  new  worlds,  and  inspire  us  to  conquer 
them.  They  show  us  lofty  and  noble  ideals, 
and  stimulate  us  to  attain  them.  They  make 
us  larger,  better,  stronger.  The  help  we  get 
from  books  is  incalculable. 

Yet  the  truest  and  best  help  any  one  can 
give  to  others  is  not  in  material  things,  but  in 
ways  that  make  them  stronger  and  better. 
Money  is  good  alms  when  money  is  really 
needed,  but  in  comparison  with  the  divine  gifts 
of  hope,  friendship,  courage,  sympathy,  and 
love,  it  is  paltry  and  poor.     Usually  the  help 


158  HELPING  AND   OVER-HELPING. 

people  need  is  not  so  much  the  lightening  of 
their  burden,  as  fresh  strength  to  enable  them 
to  bear  their  burden,  and  stand  up  under  it. 
The  best  thing  we  can  do  for  another,  some  one 
has  said,  is  not  to  make  some  things  easy  for 
him,  but  to  make  something  of  him. 

It  is  just  here  that  friendship  makes  most  of 
its  mistakes.  It  over-helps.  It  helps  by  minis- 
tering relief,  by  lifting  away  loads,  by  gathering 
hindrances  out  of  the  way,  when  it  would  help 
much  more  wisely  by  seeking  to  impart  hope, 
strength,  energy.  "  Our  friends,"  says  Emer- 
son, **  are  those  who  make  us  do  what  we  can." 
Says  another  writer :  "  Our  real  friend  is  not 
the  man  or  woman  who  smooths  over  our  diffi- 
culties, throws  a  cloak  over  our  failings,  stands 
between  us  and  the  penalties  which  our  mis- 
takes have  brought  upon  us,  but  the  man  or 
woman  who  makes  us  understand  ourselves, 
and  helps  us  to  better  things."  Love  is  weak, 
and  too  often  pampers  and  flatters.  It  thinks 
that  loyalty  requires  it  to  make  life  easy  as 
possible  for  the  beloved  one. 

Too    often    our    friendship    is    most   short- 


HELPING  AND   OVER-HELPING.  159 

sighted  in  this  regard,  and  most  hurtful  to 
those  we  fervently  desire  to  aid.  We  should 
never  indulge  or  encourage  weakness  in  others 
when  we  can  in  any  way  stimulate  it  into 
strength.  We  should  never  do  anything  for 
another  which  we  can  inspire  him  to  do  for 
himself.  Much  parental  affection  errs  at  this 
point.  Life  is  made  too  easy  for  children. 
They  are  sheltered  when  it  were  better  if  they 
faced  the  storm.  They  are  saved  from  toil  and 
exertion,  when  toil  and  exertion  are  God's 
ordained  means  of  grace  for  them,  of  which 
the  parents  rob  them  in  their  over-tenderness. 
There  are  children  who  are  wronged  by  the 
cruelty  and  inhumanity  of  parents,  and  whose 
cries  to  heaven  make  the  throne  of  the  Eternal 
rock  and  sway ;  but  there  are  children,  also,  who 
are  wronged  of  much  that  is  noblest  and  best 
in  their  inheritance  by  the  over-kindness  of 
parents. 

In  every  warm  friendship,  too,  there  is  strong 
temptation  to  make  the  same  mistake.  We 
have  to  be  ever  on  our  guard  against  over-help- 
ing.    Our  aim   should  always  be  to  inspire  in 


l60  HELPING  AND    OVER-HELPING. 

our  friend  new  energy,  to  develop  in  him  the 
noblest  strength,  to  bring  out  his  best  man- 
hood. Over-helping  defeats  these  offices  of 
friendship. 

There  is  one  particular  point  at  which  a 
special  word  of  caution  may  well  be  spoken. 
We  need  to  guard  our  sympathies  when  we 
would  comfort  and  help  those  who  are  suffer- 
ing or  are  in  trouble  of  any  kind.  It  may  seem 
a  severe  thing  to  say,  but  illness  is  ofttimes 
made  worse  by  the  pity  of  friends.  There  is 
in  weak  natures  a  tendency  to  indulge  sickness, 
to  exaggerate  its  symptoms,  to  imagine  that  it 
is  more  serious  than  it  really  is,  and  easily  to 
succumb  to  its  influence.  You  find  your  friend 
indisposed,  and  you  are  profuse  in  your  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy,  encouraging  or  suggest- 
ing fears,  urging  prompt  medical  help.  You 
think  you  have  shown  kindness,  but  very  likely 
you  have  done  sore  injury.  You  have  left  a 
depressing  influence  behind  you.  Your  friend 
is  disheartened  and  alarmed.  You  have  left 
him  weaker,  not  stronger. 

It  may  seem,  hard-hearted  to  appear  to  be 


HELPING  AND    OVER-HELPING.  l6l 

unsympathetic  with  invalids,  and  those  who  are 
sHghtly  or  even  seriously  sick  ;  not  to  take  inter- 
est in  their  complaints ;  not  to  say  commiser- 
ating things  to  them  ;  but  really  it  is  the  part 
of  true  friendship  to  help  sick  people  fight  the 
battle  with  their  ills.  We  ought,  therefore,  to 
guard  against  speaking  any  word  which  will 
discourage  them,  increase  their  fear,  exaggerate 
their  thought  of  their  illness,  or  weaken  them 
in  their  struggle.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
ought  to  say  words  which  will  cheer  and 
strengthen  them,  and  make  them  braver  for 
the  fight.  Our  duty  is  to  help  them  to  get 
well. 

Perhaps  the  very  medicine  they  need  is  a 
glimpse  of  cheerful  outlook.  Sick  people  oft- 
times  fall  into  a  mood  of  disheartenment  and 
self-pity  which  seriously  retards  their  recovery. 
To  sit  down  beside  them  then,  and  fall  into 
their  gloomy  spirit,  listening  sympathetically 
to  their  discouraged  words,  is  to  do  them  sore 
unkindness.  The  true  office  of  friendship  in 
such  cases  is  to  drive  away  the  discouragement, 
and  put  hope  and  courage  into  the  sore  heart. 


1 62  HELPING  AND    OVER-HELPING. 

We  must  try  to  make  our  sick  friend  braver  to 
endure  hi-s  sufferings. 

Then,  even  in  the  sacredness  of  sorrow,  we 
should  never  forget  that  our  mission  to  others 
is  not  merely  to  weep  with  them,  but  to  help 
them  to  be  victorious,  to  receive  their  sorrow  as 
a  messenger  from  God,  and  to  bear  themselves 
as  God's  children  under  it.  Instead,  therefore, 
of  mere  emotional  condolence  with  our  friends 
in  their  times  of  grief,  we  should  seek  to  pre- 
sent to  them  the  strong  comforts  of  divine  love, 
and  to  inspire  them  to  the  bearing  of  their 
sorrow  in  faith  and  hope  and  joy. 

So  all  personal  helpfulness  should  be  wise  and 
thoughtful.  It  should  never  tend  to  pamper 
weakness,  to  encourage  dependence,  to  make 
people  timid,  to  debilitate  manliness  and  woman- 
liness, to  make  parasites  of  those  who  turn  to 
us  with  their  burdens  and  needs.  We  must 
take  care  that  our  helping  does  not  dwarf  any 
life  which  we  ought  rather  to  stimulate  to 
noble  and  beautiful  growth.  God  never  makes 
such  mistakes  as  this.     He  never  fails  us  in 


HELPING  AND   OVER-HELPING.  1 63 

need,  but  he  loves  us  too  well  and  is  too  wise  to 
relieve  us  of  weights  which  we  need  to  make 
our  growth  healthful  and  vigorous.  We  should 
learn  from  God,  and  should  help  as  he  helps, 
without  over-helping. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE  ONLY  ONE. 

"  Before  the  monstrous  wrong  he  sets  him  down  — 

One  man  against  a  stone  walled  city  of  sin. 
****** 

When  the  red  dust  has  cleared,  the  lonely  soldier 
Stands  with  strange  thoughts  beneath  the  friendly  stars." 

—  E.  R.  Sill. 

There  are  a  great  many  people  in  this  world 

—  hundreds   of    millions,    tables   of   population 

foot  up.     Yet  in  a  sense  each  one  of  us  is  the 

only  one.     Each  individual  life  has  relations  of 

its  own  in  which  it  must  stand  alone,  and  into 

which  no  other  life  can  come.     Companionships 

may  be  close,  and  they  may  give  much  comfort 

and  inspiration,  but  in  all  the  inner  meaning  of 

life  each  individual  lives  apart  and  alone.     No 

one  can  live   your  life  for   you.     No    one    but 

yourself  can  answer  your  questions,  meet  your 

responsibilities,  make  your  decisions  and  choices. 

Your   relations  with  God  no  one  but   yourself 

164 


THE   ONLY  ONE.  165 

can  fulfil.  No  one  can  believe  for  you.  A 
thousand  friends  may  encircle  you  and  pray  for 
your  soul,  but  until  you  lift  up  your  own  heart 
in  prayer  no  communication  is  established  be- 
tween you  and  God.  No  one  can  get  your  sins 
forgiven  but  yourself.  No  one  can  obey  God  for 
you.  No  other  one  can  do  your  work  for  Christ, 
or  render  your  account  at  the  judgment-seat. 

In  the  realm  of  experience  also  the  same  is 
true.  Each  person  suffers  alone,  as  if  there 
were  no  other  being  in  the  universe.  Friends 
may  stand  by  us  in  our  hours  of  pain  or  sorrow, 
and  may  sympathize  with  us  or  administer  com- 
fort or  alleviation,  but  they  enter  not  really  into 
the  experiences.  In  these  we  are  alone.  No 
one  can  meet  your  temptations  for  you,  or  fight 
your  battles,  or  endure  your  trials.  The  tender- 
est  friendship,  the  holiest  love,  cannot  enter 
into  the  solitariness  in  which  each  one  of  us 
lives  apart. 

"  Still  in  each  heart  of  hearts  a  hidden  deep 
Lies,  never  fathomed  by  its  dearest,  best." 

This  aloneness  of  life  sometimes  becomes 
very  real  in  consciousness.     All  great  souls  ex- 


1 66  THE   ONLY  ONE,  , 

perience  it  as  they  rise  out  of  and  above  the 
common  mass  of  men  in  their  thoughts  and 
hopes  and  aspirations,  as  the  mountains  rise 
from  the  level  of  the  vale  and  little  hills.  All 
great  leaders  of  men  ofttimes  must  stand 
alone,  as  they  move  in  advance  of  the  ranks  of 
their  followers.  The  battles  of  truth  and  of 
progress  have  usually  been  fought  by  lonely 
souls.  Elijah,  for  example,  in  a  season  of  dis- 
heartenment  and  despondency,  gave  it  as  part  of 
the  exceptional  burden  of  his  life  that  he  was 
the  only  one  in  the  field  for  God.  It  is  so  in  all 
great  epochs ;  God  calls  one  man  to  stand  for 
him.     As  Robert  Browning  says  :  — 

♦'  In  life  exceptional, 
When  old  things  terminate  and  new  commence, 
A  solitary  great  man's  worth  the  world. 
God  takes  the  business  in  his  own  hand 
At  such  time." 

But  the  experience  is  not  that  only  of  great 
souls ;  there  come  times  in  the  lives  of  all  who 
are  living  faithfully  and  worthily  when  they 
must  stand  alone  for  God,  without  companion- 
ship, perhaps  without  sympathy  or  encourage- 


THE  ONLY  ONE.  167 

ment.  Here  is  a  young  person,  the  only  one  of 
his  family  who  has  confessed  Christ.  He  takes 
him  as  his  Saviour,  and  then  stands  up  before 
the  world  and  vows  to  be  his  and  follow  him. 
He  goes  back  to  his  home.  The  members  of 
the  home  circle  are  very  dear  to  him  ;  but  none 
of  them  are  Christians,  and  he  must  stand  alone 
for  Christ  among  them.  Perhaps  they  oppose 
him  in  his  discipleship  —  in  varying  degrees  this 
ofttimes  is  the  experience.  Perhaps  they  are 
only  indifferent,  making  no  opposition,  only 
quietly  watching  his  life  to  see  if  it  is  consist- 
ent. In  any  case,  however,  he  must  stand  for 
Christ  alone,  without  the  help  that  comes  from 
companionship. 

Or  it  may  be  in  the  workshop  or  in  the  school 
that  the  young  Christian  must  stand  alone.  He 
returns  from  the  Lord's  Table  to  his  week-day 
duties,  full  of  noble  impulses,  but  finds  himself 
the  only  Christian  in  the  place  where  his  duty 
leads  him.  His  companions  are  ready  to  sneer, 
and  they  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  him,  with 
irritating  epithets.  Or  they  even  persecute  him 
in  petty  ways.     At  least  they  are  not  Christ's 


1 68  THE   ONLY  ONE. 

friends,  and  he,  as  follower  of  the  Master,  finds 
no  sympathy  among  them  in  his  new  life.  He 
must  stand  alone  in  his  discipleship,  conscious 
all  the  while  that  unfriendly  eyes  are  upon  him. 
Many  a  young  or  older  Christian  finds  it  very 
hard  to  be  the  only  one  to  stand  for  Christ  in 
the  circle  in  which  his  daily  work  fixes  his 
place. 

This  aloneness  puts  upon  one  a  great  respon- 
sibility. For  example,  you  are  the  only  Christian 
in  your  home.  You  are  the  only  witness  Christ 
has  in  your  house,  the  only  one  through  whom 
to  reveal  his  love,  his  grace,  his  holiness.  You 
are  the  only  one  to  represent  Christ  in  your 
family,  to  show  there  the  beauty  of  Christ, 
the  sweetness  and  gentleness  of  Christ,  to  do 
there  the  works  of  Christ,  the  things  he  would 
do  if  he  lived  in  your  home.  Perhaps  the  sal- 
vation of  all  the  souls  of  your  family  depends 
upon  your  being  true  and  faithful  in  your  own 
place.  If  you  falter  in  your  loyalty,  if  you  fail 
in  your  duty,  your  loved  ones  may  be  lost  ajid 
the  blame  will  be  yours ;  their  blood  will  he 
upon  you. 


THE    ONLY  ONE.  169 

In  like  manner,  if  you  are  the  only  Christian 
in  the  shop,  the  store,  or  the  office  where  you 
work,  a  peculiar  responsibility  rests  upon  you, 
a  responsibility  which  no  other  one  shares  with 
you.  You  are  Christ's  only  witness  in  your 
place.  If  you  do  not  testify  there  for  him,  there 
is  no  other  one  who  will  do  it.  Miss  Havergal 
tells  of  her  experience  in  the  girls'  school  at 
Diisseldorf.  She  went  there  soon  after  she  had 
become  a  Christian  and  had  confessed  Christ. 
Her  heart  was  very  warm  with  love  for  her 
Saviour  and  she  was  eager  to  speak  for  him.  To 
her  amazement,  however,  she  soon  learned  that 
among  the  hundred  girls  in  the  school,  she  was 
the  only  Christian.  Her  first  thought  was  one  of 
dismay  —  she  could  not  confess  Christ  in  that 
great  company  of  worldly,  un-Christian  compan- 
ions. Her  gentle,  sensitive  heart  shrank  from  a 
duty  so  hard.  Her  second  thought,  however, 
was  that  she  could  not  refrain  from  confessing 
Christ.  She  was  the  only  one  Christ  had  there 
and  she  must  be  faithful.  "This  was  very 
bracing,"  she  writes.  "  I  felt  I  must  try  to  walk 
worthy   of   my   calling  for   Christ's   sake.      It 


I  pro  THE    ONLY  ONE. 

brought  a  new  and  strong  desire  to  bear  wit< 
ness  for  my  Master.  It  made  me  more  watch- 
ful and  earnest  than  ever  before,  for  I  knew  that 
any  slip  in  word  or  deed  would  bring  discredit 
on  my  Master."  She  realized  that  she  had  a 
mission  in  that  school,  that  she  was  Christ's 
witness  there,  his  only  witness,  and  that  she 
dare  not  fail. 

This  same  sense  of  responsibility  rests  upon 
every  thoughtful  Christian  who  is  called  to  be 
Christ's  only  witness  in  a  place  —  in  a  home, 
in  a  community,  in  a  store,  or  school,  or  shop, 
or  social  circle.  He  is  Christ's  only  servant 
there,  and  he  dare  not  be  unfaithful,  else  the 
whole  work  of  Christ  in  that  place  may  fail. 
He  is  the  one  light  set  to  shine  there  for  his 
Master,  and  if  his  light  be  hidden,  the  darkness 
will  be  unrelieved.  So  there  is  special  inspira- 
tion in  this  consciousness  of  being  the  only  one 
Christ  has  in  a  certain  place. 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  this  is  true  also  of 
every  one  of  us  all  the  time.  We  really  are 
always  the  only  one  Christ  has  at  the  particular 
place  at  which  we  stand.     There  may  be  thou- 


THE   ONLY  ONE.  171 

sands  of  other  lives  about  us.  We  may  be  only 
one  of  a  great  company,  of  a  large  congregation, 
of  a  populous  community.  Yet  each  one  of  us 
has  a  life  that  is  alone  in  its  responsibility,  in 
its  danger,  in  its  mission  and  duty.  There  may 
be  a  hundred  others  close  beside  me,  but  not 
one  of  them  can  take  my  place,  or  do  my  duty, 
or  fulfil  my  mission,  or  bear  my  responsibility. 
Though  every  one  of  the  other  hundred  do  his 
work,  and  do  it  perfectly,  my  work  waits  for  me, 
and  if  I  do  not  do  it,  it  never  will  be  done. 

We  can  understand  how  that  if  the  great 
prophet  had  failed  God  that  day  when  he  was 
the  only  one  God  had  to  stand  for  him,  the  con- 
sequences would  have  been  most  disastrous ; 
the  cause  of  God  would  have  suffered  irrepara- 
bly. But  are  we  sure  that  the  calamity  to 
Christ's  kingdom  would  be  any  less  if  one  of  us 
should  fail  God  in  our  lowly  place  any  common 
day.? 

Stories  are  told  of  a  child  finding  a  little  leak 
in  the  dike  that  shuts  off  the  sea  from  Holland, 
and  stopping  it  with  his  hand  till  help  could 
come,  staying  there  all  the  night,  holding  back 


172  THE    ONLY  ONE. 

the  floods  with  his  little  hand.  It  was  but  a 
tiny,  trickling  stream  that  he  held  back ;  yet  if 
he  had  not  done  it,  it  would  soon  have  become 
a  torrent,  and  before  morning  the  sea  would 
have  swept  over  the  land,  submerging  fields, 
homes,  and  cities.  Between  the  sea  and  all  this 
devastation  there  was  but  a  boy's  hand.  Had 
the  child  failed,  the  floods  would  have  rolled  in 
with  their  remorseless  ruin.  We  understand 
how  important  it  was  that  that  boy  should  be 
faithful  to  his  duty,  since  he  was  the  only  one 
God  had  that  night  to  save  Holland. 

But  do  you  know  that  your  life  may  not  stand 
any  day,  and  be  all  that  stands,  between  some 
great  flood  of  moral  ruin  and  broad,  fair  fields  of 
beauty  1  Do  you  know  that  your  failure  in  your 
lowly  place  and  duty  may  not  let  in  a  sea  of 
disaster  which  shall  sweep  away  human  hopes 
and  joys  and  human  souls  t  The  humblest  of 
us  dare  not  fail,  for  our  one  life  is  all  God  has  at 
the  point  where  we  stand. 

This  truth  of  personal  responsibility  is  one  of 
tremendous  moment.  We  do  not  escape  it  by 
being  in  a  crowd,  one  of  a  family,  one  of  a  com- 


THE  ONLY  ONE.  173 

munity.  No  one  but  ourself  can  live  our  life- 
do  our  work,  meet  our  obligation,  bear  our  bur- 
den. No  one  but  ourself  can  stand  for  us 
before  God  to  render  an  account  of  our  deeds. 
In  the  deepest,  realest  sense  each  one  of  us  lives 
alone. 

There  is  another  phase  of  this  subject,  how- 
ever, which  should  not  be  overlooked.  While 
we  must  stand  alone  in  our  place  and  be  faithful 
to  our  trust,  our  responsibility  reaches  only  to 
our  own  duty.  Others  beside  us  have  their  part 
also  to  do,  and  the  perfection  of  the  whole  work 
depends  upon  their  faithfulness  as  well  as  upon 
ours.  The  best  any  of  us  can  do  in  this  world 
is  but  a  fragment.  The  old  prophet  thought  his 
work  had  failed  because  Baalism  was  not  yet 
entirely  destroyed.  Then  he  was  told  of  three 
other  men,  who  would  come  after  him  —  two 
kings  and  then  another  prophet,  who  each  in 
turn  would  do  his  part,  when  at  last  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  great  alien  idolatry  would  be  com- 
plete. Elijah's  faithfulness  had  not  failed,  but 
his  achievement  was  only  a  fragment  of  the 
whole  work. 


174  THE   ONLY  ONE. 

This  is  very  suggestive  and  very  comforting. 
We  are  not  responsible  for  finishing  everything 
we  begin.  It  may  be  our  part  only  to  begin  it ; 
the  carrying  on  and  finishing  of  it  may  be  the 
work  of  others  whom  we  do  not  know,  of  others 
perhaps  not  yet  born.  We  all  enter  into  the  work 
of  those  who  have  gone  before  us,  and  others  who 
come  after  us  shall  in  turn  enter  into  our  work. 
Our  duty  simply  is  to  do  well  and  faithfully 
our  own  little  part.  If  we  do  this  we  need 
never  fret  ourselves  about  the  part  we  cannot 
do.  That  is  not  our  work  at  all,  but  belongs  to 
some  other  worker,  waiting  now,  perchance,  in 
some  obscure  place,  who  at  the  right  time  will 
come  forward  with  new  heart  and  skilful  hand, 
anointed  by  God  for  his  task. 

Mr.  Sill  illustrates  this  truth  in  one  of  his 
poems,  where,  speaking  of  the  young,  "led  on 
by  courage  and  immortal  hope,  and  with  the 
morning  in  their  hearts,"  he  says  :  — 

♦•  They  to  the  disappointed  earth  shall  give 
The  lives  we  meant  to  live, 
Beautiful,  free,  and  strong; 
The  light  we  almost  had 


THE   ONLY  ONE,  175 

Shall  make  them  glad; 

The  words  we  waited  long 

Shall  run  in  music  from  their  voice  and  song." 

Mr.  Whittier  also  suggests  the  same  truth :  — 

"Others  shall  sing  the  song, 
Others  shall  right  the  wrong, 
Finish  what  I  begin, 
And  all  I  fail  of  win. 

"What  matter  I  or  they. 
Mine  or  another's  day, 
So  the  right  word  be  said 
And  life  the  sweeter  made?" 

So  while  we  are  alone  in  our  responsibility  we 
need  give  no  thought  for  anything  but  our  own 
duty,  our  own  little  fragment  of  the  Lord's 
work.  The  things  we  cannot  do  some  other 
one  is  waiting  and  preparing  now  to  do  after 
the  work  has  passed  from  our  hand.  There  is 
comfort  in  this  for  any  who  fail  in  their  efforts, 
and  must  leave  tasks  unfinished  which  they 
hoped  to  complete.  The  finishing  is  another's 
mission. 


CHAPTER   XVIL 

SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY. 

"  Life  is  a  leaf  of  paper  white, 
Whereon  each  one  of  us  may  write 
His  word  or  two  —  and  then  comes  night" 

—  Lowell, 

Many  good  people  are  very  slow.  They  do 
their  work  well  enough,  perhaps,  but  so  leis- 
urely that  they  accomplish  in  their  brief  time 
only  a  fraction  of  what  they  might  accomplish. 
They  lose,  in  aimless  loitering,  whole  golden 
hours  which  they  ought  to  fill  with  quick  activi- 
ties. They  seem  to  have  no  true  appreciation 
of  the  value  of  time,  or  of  their  own  accounta- 
bility for  its  precious  moments.  They  live  con- 
scientiously, it  may  be,  but  they  have  no  strong 
constraining  sense  of  duty  impelling  them  to 
ever  larger  and  fuller  achievement.  They  have 
a  work  to  do,  but  there  is  no  hurry  for  it ;  there 
is  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  do  it 
176 


SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY.  lyj 

It  is  quite  safe  to  say  that  the  majority  of 
people  do  not  get  into  their  life  half  the  achieve- 
ment that  was  possible  to  them  when  they  be- 
gan to  live,  simply  because  they  have  never 
learned  to  work  swiftly,  and  under  pressure  of 
great  motives. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  are  required 
to  make  the  most  possible  of  our  life.  Mr. 
Longfellow  once  gave  to  his  pupils,  as  a  motto, 
this  :  "  Live  up  to  the  best  that  is  in  you."  To 
do  this,  we  must  not  only  develop  our  talents 
to  the  utmost  power  and  capacity  of  which  they 
are  susceptible,  but  we  must  also  use  these 
talents  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  largest 
and  best  results  they  are  capable  of  producing. 
In  order  to  reach  this  standard,  we  must  never 
lose  a  day,  nor  even  an  hour,  and  we  must  put 
into  every  day  and  every  hour  all  that  is  pos- 
sible of  activity  and  usefulness. 

Dreaming  through  days  and  years,  however 
brilliantly  one  may  dream,  can  never  satisfy 
the  demands  of  the  responsibility  which  inheres 
essentially  in  every  soul  that  is  born  into  the 
world.     Life  means  duty,  toil,  work.     There  is 


178  SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY. 

something  divinely  allotted  to   each  hour,  and 

the  hour  one  loiters  remains  forever  an  unfilled 

blank.     We  can  ideally  fulfil  our  mission  only 

by  living  up  always  to  the  best  that  is  in  us, 

and  by  doing  every  day  the  very  most  that  we 

can  do. 

"  So  here  hath  been  dawning  another  blue  day; 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it  slip  useless  away? 
Out  of  eternity  this  new  day  is  born ; 
Into  eternity  at  night  will  return." 

We  turn  over  to  our  Lord  for  example,  since 
his  was  the  one  life  in  all  the  ages  that  reached 
the  divine  thought,  and  filled  out  the  divine 
pattern ;  and  wherever  we  see  him,  we  find  him 
intent  on  doing  the  will  of  his  Father,  not 
losing  a  moment,  nor  loitering  at  any  task. 
We  see  him  ever  hastening  from  place  to  place, 
from  ministry  to  ministry,  from  baptism  to 
temptation,  from  teaching  to  healing,  from 
miracle-working  to  solitary  prayer.  His  feet 
never  loitered.  He  lost  no  moments ;  he 
seems  indeed  to  have  crowded  the  common 
work  of  years  into  a  few  short,  intense  hours. 
He  is  painted  for  us  as  a  man  continually  under 


SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY.  1 79 

the  strongest  pressure,  with  a  work  to  do  which 
he  was  eager  to  accomplish  in  the  shortest 
possible  time.  He  was  always  calm,  never  in 
nervous  haste,  yet  ever  quietly  moving  with 
resistless  energy  on  his  holy  errand. 

We  ought  to  catch  our  Master's  spirit  in  this 
celerity  in  the  Father's  business.  Time  is 
short  and  duty  is  large.  There  is  not  a  moment 
to  lose,  if,  in  our  allotted  period,  we  would  finish 
the  work  that  is  given  us  to  do.  We  need  to 
get  our  Lord's  "straightway"  into  our  life,  so 
that  we  shall  hasten  from  duty  to  duty,  with- 
out pause  or  idle  lingering.  We  need  to  get 
into  our  heart  a  consciousness  of  being  ever  on 
the  Master's  errands,  that  shall  be  within  us  a 
mighty  compulsion,  driving  us  always  to  duty. 

Naturally  we  are  indolent,  and  fond  of  ease 
and  self  indulgence.  We  need  to  be  carried 
out  of  and  beyond  ourselves.  There  is  no 
motive  strong  enough  to  do  this  but  love  to 
God  and  to  our  fellow-men.  Supreme  love  to 
God  makes  us  desire  to  do  with  alacrity  every- 
thing he  commands.  Love  to  our  fellow-men 
draws  us  to  all  service  of  sympathy  and  benefi- 


l80  SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY. 

cence  for  them,  regardless  of  cost.  Constrained 
by  such  motives,  we  shall  never  become  laggards 
in  duty. 

Swiftness  or  slowness  in  duty  is  very  much 
a  matter  of  habit.  As  one  is  trained  in  early 
life,  one  is  quite  sure  to  continue  in  mature 
years.  A  loitering  child  will  become  a  loiter- 
ing man  or  woman.  The  habit  grows,  as  all 
habits  do. 

"  Lose  this  day  loitering,  'twill  be  the  same  story 
To-morrow,  and  the  next  more  dilatory; 
The  indecision  brings  its  own  delays, 
And  days  are  lost,  lamenting  o'er  lost  days. 

*'  Are  you  in  earnest?     Seize  this  very  minute. 
What  you  can  do,  and  think  you  can,  begin  it. 
Boldness  has  genius,  power,  magic  in  it. 
Only  engage,  and  then  the  mind  grows  heated ; 
Begin  it,  and  the  work  will  be  completed." 

Many  people  lose  in  the  aggregate  whole 
years  of  time  out  of  their  lives  for  want  of 
system.  They  make  no  plan  for  their  days. 
They  let  duties  mingle  in  inextricable  con- 
fusion. They  are  always  in  feverish  haste. 
They   talk  continually   of   being   overwhelmed 


SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY.  l8l 

with  work,  of  the  great  pressure  that  is  upon 
them,  of  being  driven  beyond  measure.  They 
always  have  the  air  of  men  who  have  scarcely 
time  to  eat  or  sleep.  And  there  is  nothing 
feigned  in  all  their  intense  occupation.  They 
really  are  hurried  men.  Yet  in  the  end  they 
accomplish  but  little  in  comparison  with  their 
great  activity,  because  they  work  without  order, 
and  always  feverishly  and  nervously.  Swift- 
ness in  accomplishment  is  always  calm  and 
quiet.  It  plans  well,  suffering  no  confusion  in 
tasks.  Hurried  haste  is  always  flurried  haste, 
which  does  nothing  well.  "  Unhasting  yet  un- 
resting" is  the  motto  of  quick  and  abundant 
achievement. 

' '  *  Without  haste  !  without  rest ! ' 

Bind  the  motto  to  thy  breast; 
Bear  it  with  thee  as  a  spell ; 

Storm  or  sunshine,  guard  it  well; 
Heed  not  flowers  that  round  thee  bloom, 

Bear  it  onward  to  the  tomb. 

"Haste  not!  let  no  thoughtless  deed 
Mar  for  aye  the  spirit's  speed ; 
Ponder  well  and  know  the  right; 


1 82  SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY. 

Onward  then  with  all  thy  might; 
Haste  not ;  years  can  ne'er  atone 
For  one  reckless  action  done. 

"Rest  not!  life  is  sweeping  by, 

Do  and  dare  before  you  die ; 
Something  mighty  and  sublime 

Leave  behind  to  conquer  time ; 
Glorious  'tis  to  live  for  aye 

When  these  forms  have  passed  away. 

*' Haste  not!  rest  not!  calmly  wait; 

Meekly  bear  the  storm  of  fate ; 
Duty  be  thy  polar  guide ; 

Do  the  right  whatever  betide. 
Haste  not !  rest  not !    Conflicts  past, 

God  shall  crown  thy  work  at  last." 

There  is  another  phase  of  the  lesson.  Not 
swiftness  only,  but  patient  persistence  through 
days  and  years,  is  the  mark  of  true  living. 
There  are  many  people  who  can  work  under 
pressure  for  a  little  time,  but  who  tire  of  the 
monotony  and  slack  in  their  duty  by  and  by, 
failing  at  last  because  they  cannot  endure  unto 
the  end.  There  are  people  who  begin  many 
noble  things,  but  soon  weary  of  them  and  drop 
them  out  of  their  hands.     They  may  pass  for 


SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY.  183 

brilliant  men,  men  even  of  genius,  but  in  the 
end  they  have  for  biography  only  a  volume  of 
fragments  of  chapters,  not  one  of  them  finished. 
Such  men  may  attract  a  great  deal  of  passing 
attention,  while  the  tireless  plodders  working 
beside  them  receive  no  praise,  no  commenda- 
tion ;  but  in  the  real  records  of  life,  written  in 
abiding  lines  in  God's  Book,  it  is  the  latter  who 
will  shine  in  the  brightest  splendor.  Robert 
Browning   puts    this   truth   in   striking  way  in 

one  of  his  poems :  — 

"Now,  observe, 

Sustaining  is  no  brilliant  self-display 

Like  knocking  down  or  even  setting  up : 

Much  bustle  these  necessitate ;  and  still 

To  vulgar  eye,  the  mightier  of  the  myth 

Is  Hercules,  who  substitutes  his  own 

For  Atlas'  shoulder  and  supports  the  globe 

A  whole  day,  —  not  the  passive  and  obscure 

Atlas  who  bore,  ere  Hercules  was  born, 

And  is  to  go  on  bearing  that  same  load 

When  Hercules  turns  ash  on  Oeta's  top. 

'Tis  the  transition-stage,  the  tug  and  strain, 

That  strike  men :  standing  still  is  stupid-like." 

So  we  get  our  lesson.     There  is  so  much  to 
do  in  the  short  days  that  we  dare  not  lose  a 


1 84  SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY. 

moment.  Life  is  so  laden  with  responsibility 
that  to  trifle  at  any  point  is  sin.  Even  on  the 
seizing  of  minutes  eternal  issues  may  depend. 
Of  course  we  must  take  needed  rest  to  keep 
our  lives  in  condition  for  duty.  But  what  shall 
we  say  of  those  strong  men  and  women  who 
do  almost  nothing  but  rest }  What  shall  we 
say  of  those  who  live  only  to  have  amusement, 
who  dance  away  their  nights  and  then  sleep 
away  their  days,  and  thus  hurry  on  toward  the 
judgment-bar,  doing  nothing  for  God  or  for 
man }  Life  is  duty ;  every  moment  of  it  has 
its  own  duty.  There  is  no  malfeasance  so  sad 
and  so  terrible  in  its  penalties  as  that  which 
wastes  the  golden  years  in  idleness  or  pleasure, 
and  leaves  duty  undone. 

Shall  we  not  seek  to  crowd  the  days  with 
most  earnest  living  ?  Shall  we  not  learn  to 
redeem  the  time  from  indolence,  from  loitering, 
from  aii^methodicalness,  from  the  waste  of  pre- 
cious mome\rts,  from  self-indulgence,  from  impa- 
tience of  persivtent  toil,  from  all  that  lessens 
achievement }  Si'hall  we  not  learn  to  work 
swiftly  for  our  Mast6  r  ? 

\ 


SWIFTNESS  IN  DUTY.  1 8$ 

"  You  must  live  each  day  at  your  very  best : 
The  work  of  the  world  is  done  by  few ; 
God  asks  that  a  part  be  done  by  you. 

"  Say  oft  of  the  years  as  they  pass  from  sight, 
*  This  is  life  with  its  golden  store  : 
I  shall  have  it  once,  but  it  comes  no  more/ 

"  Have  a  purpose,  and  do  with  your  utmost  might: 
You  will  finish  your  work  on  the  other  side, 
When  you  wake  in  his  likeness,  satisfied." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE  SHADOWS  WE  CAST. 

"  The  smallest  bark  on  life's  tumultuous  oceaR 
Will  leave  a  track  behind  for  evermore ; 
The  slightest  wave  of  influence  set  in  motion 
Extends  and  widens  to  the  eternal  shore.' ' 

Every  one  of  us  casts  a  shadow.  There 
hangs  about  us  a  sort  of  penumbra,  —  a  strange, 
indefinable  something, — which  we  call  personal 
influence,  which  has  its  effect  on  every  other 
life  on  which  it  falls.  It  goes  with  us  wherever 
we  go.  It  is  not  something  we  can  have  when 
we  want  to  have  it,  and  then  lay  aside  when  we 
will,  as  we  lay  aside  a  garment.  It  is  some- 
thing that  always  pours  out  from  our  life,  like 
light  from  a  lamp,  like  heat  from  flame,  like 
perfume  from  a  flower. 

No   one   can   live,   and   not   have    influence 
Says    Elihu    Burritt  :    **  No   human    being    can 
come   into   this   world   without    increasing    or 
186 


THE   SHADOWS    WE    CAST.  ig/ 

diminishing  the  sum  total  of  human  happiness, 
not  only  of  the  present,  "but  of  every  subsequent 
age  of  humanity.  No  one  can  detach  himself 
from  this  connection.  There  is  no  sequestered 
spot  in  the  universe,  no  dark  niche  along  the 
disk  of  non-existence,  to  which  he  can  retreat 
from  his  relations  to  others,  where  he  can  with- 
draw the  influence  of  his  existence  upon  the 
moral  destiny  of  the  world ;  everywhere  his 
presence  or  absence  will  be  felt,  everywhere  he 
will  have  companions  who  will  be  better  or 
worse  for  his  influence."  These  are  true  words. 
To  be  at  all  is  to  have  influence,  either  for  good 
or  evil,  over  other  lives. 

The  ministry  of  personal  influence  is  some- 
thing very  wonderful.  Without  being  conscious 
^  of  it,  we  are  always  impressing  others  by  this 
strange  power  that  goes  out  from  us.  Others 
watch  us  and  their  actions  are  modified  by  ours. 
Many  a  life  has  been  started  on  a  career  of 
beauty  and  blessing  by  the  influence  of  one 
noble  act.  The  disciples  saw  their  Master 
praying,  and  were  so  impressed  by  his  earnest- 
ness, or  by  the  radiancy  they  saw  on  his  face. 


1 88  THE  SHADOWS    WE   CAST. 

as  he  communed  with  his  Father,  that  when  he 
joined  them  again  they  asked  him  to  teach 
them  how  to  pray.  Every  true  soul  is  im- 
pressed continually  by  the  glimpses  it  has  of 
loveliness,  of  holiness,  or  of  nobleness  in 
others. 

One  kind  deed  often  inspires  many  kind- 
nesses. Here  is  a  story  from  a  newspaper  of 
the  other  day,  which  illustrates  this.  A  little 
newsboy  entered  a  car  on  the  elevated  railway 
train,  and  slipping  into  a  cross-seat,  was  soon 
asleep.  Presently  two  young  ladies  came  in, 
and  took  seats  opposite  to  him.  The  child's 
feet  were  bare,  his  clothes  were  ragged,  and  his 
face  was  pinched  and  drawn,  showing  marks  of 
hunger  and  suffering.  The  young  ladies  no- 
ticed him,  and,  seeing  that  his  cheek  rested 
against  the  hard  window-sill,  one  of  them  arose, 
and  quietly  raising  his  head,  slipped  her  muff 
under  it  for  a  pillow. 

The  kind  act  was  observed,  and  now  mark  its 
influence.  An  old  gentleman  in  the  next  seat, 
without  a  word,  held  out  a  silver  quarter  to  the 
young  lady,  nodding  toward  the  boy.     After  a 


THE  SHADOWS    WE   CAST.  189 

moment's  hesitation,  she  took  it,  and  as  she  did 
so,  another  man  handed  her  a  dime,  a  woman 
across  the  aisle  held  out  some  pennies,  and 
almost  before  the  young  woman  realized  what 
she  was  doing,  she  was  taking  a  collection  for 
the  poor  boy.  Thus  from  the  one  little  act  there 
had  gone  out  a  wave  of  influence  touching  the 
hearts  of  two  score  people,  and  leading  each  of 
them  to  do  something. 

Common  life  is  full  of  just  such  illustrations 
of  the  influence  of  kindly  deeds.  Every  good 
life  leaves  in  the  world  a  twofold  ministry,  that 
of  the  things  it  does  directly  to  bless  others, 
and  that  of  the  silent  influence  it  exerts,  through 
which  others  are  made  better,  or  are  inspired  to 
do  like  good  things. 

Influence  is  something,  too,  which  even  death 
does  not  end.  When  earthly  life  closes,  a  good 
man's  active  work  ceases.  He  is  missed  in  the 
places  where  his  familiar  presence  has  brought 
benedictions.  No  more  are  his  words  heard  by 
those  who  ofttimes  have  been  cheered  or  com- 
forted by  them.  No  more  do  his  benefactions 
find  their  way  to  homes  of  need  where  so  many 


1 90  THE   SHADOWS  WE    CAST. 

times  they  have  brought  rehef.  No  more  does 
his  gentle  friendship  minister  strength  and  hope 
and  courage  to  hearts  that  have  learned  to  love 
him.  The  death  of  a  good  man,  in  the  midst 
of  his  usefulness,  cuts  off  a  blessed  ministry 
of  helpfulness  in  the  circle  in  which  he  has 
dwelt.  But  his  influence  continues.  Long- 
fellow writes :  — 

"Alike  are  life  and  death 

When  life  in  death  survives, 
And  the  uninterrupted  breath 
Inspires  a  thousand  lives. 

*'  Were  a  star  quenched  on  high, 
For  ages  would  its  light, 
Still  travelling  downward  from  the  sky, 
Shine  on  our  mortal  sight. 

**  So  when  a  great  man  dies, 
For  years  beyond  our  ken 
The  light  he  leaves  behind  him  lies 
Upon  the  paths  of  men." 

The  influence  which  our  dead  have  over  us  is 
ofttimes  very  great.  We  think  we  have  lost 
them  when  we  see  their  faces  no  more,  nor  hear 


THE  SHADOWS    WE   CAST.  191 

their  voices,  nor  receive  the  accustomed  kind- 
nesses at  their  hands.  But  in  many  cases  there 
is  no  doubt  that  what  our  loved  ones  do  for  us 
after  they  are  gone  is  quite  as  important  as 
what  they  could  have  done  for  us  had  they 
stayed  with  us.  The  memory  of  beautiful  lives 
is  a  benediction,  softened  and  made  more  rich 
and  impressive  by  the  sorrow  which  their 
departure  caused.  The  influence  of  such  sacred 
memories  is  in  a  certain  sense  more  tender  than 
that  of  life  itself.  Death  transfigures  our  loved 
one,  as  it  were,  sweeping  away  the  faults  and 
blemishes  of  the  mortal  life,  and  leaving  us  an 
abiding  vision,  in  which  all  that  was  beautiful, 
pure,  gentle,  and  true  in  him  remains  to  us. 
We  often  lose  friends  in  the  competitions  and 
strifes  of  earthly  life,  whom  we  would  have  kept 
forever  had  death  taken  them  away  in  the 
earlier  days  when  love  was  strong.  Often  is  it 
true,  as  Cardinal  Newman  writes  :  — 

"  He  lives  to  us  who  dies ;  he  is  but  lost  who  lives." 

Thus  even  death  doth  not  quench  the  influ- 
ence of  a  good  life.     It  continues  to  bless  oth- 


192  THE   SHADOWS    WE    CAST, 

ers  long  after  the  life  has  passed  from  earth.    It 
is  true,  as  Mrs.  Sangster  writes  :  — 

*'  They  never  quite  leave  us,  our  friends  who  have  passed 
Through  the  shadows  of  death  to  the  sunlight  above  ; 
A  thousand  sweet  memories  are  holding  them  fast 
To  the  places  they  blessed  with  their  presence  and 
love. 

*'  The  work  which   they  left  and  the   books  which   they 
read 
Speak  mutely,  though  still  with  an  eloquence  rare ; 
And  the  songs  that  they  sung,  and  the  dear  words  tliat 
they  said 
Yet  linger  and  sigh  on  the  desolate  air. 

*'  And  oft  when  alone,  and  oft  in  the  throng, 

Or  when  evil  allures  us,  or  sin  draweth  nigh, 
A  whisper  comes  gently,  '  Nay,  do  not  the  wrong,' 
And  we  feel  that  our  weakness  is  pitied  on  high." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  not  all  influence 
is  good.  Evil  deeds  also  have  influence.  Bad 
men  live,  too,  after  they  are  gone.  Cried  a 
dying  man  whose  life  had  been  full  of  harm  to 
others:  "Gather  up  my  influence,  and  bury  it 
with  me  in  my  grave."  But  the  frantic,  re- 
morseful wish  was  in  vain.     The  man  went  out 


THE   SHADOWS    WE    CAST.  I93 

of  the  world,  but  his  influence  stayed  behind 
him,  its  poison  to  work  for  ages  in  the  lives  of 
others. 

We  need,  therefore,  to  guard  our  influence 
with  most  conscientious  care.  It  is  a  crime  to 
fling  into  the  street  an  infected  garment  which 
may  carry  contagion  to  men's  homes.  It  is  a 
worse  crime  to  send  out  a  printed  page  bearing 
words  infected  with  the  virus  of  moral  death. 
The  men  who  prepare  and  publish  the  vile  liter- 
ature which  to-day  goes  everywhere,  polluting 
and  defiling  innocent  lives,  will  have  a  fearful 
account  to  render  when  they  stand  at  God's  bar 
to  meet  their  influence.  If  we  would  make  our 
lives  worthy  of  God,  and  a  blessing  to  the  world, 
we  must  see  to  it  that  nothing  we  do  shall  influ- 
ence others  in  the  slightest  degree  to  evil. 

In  the  early  days  of  American  art  there  went 
from  this  country  to  London  a  young  artist  of 
genius  and  of  a  pure  heart.  He  was  poor,  but  had 
an  aspiration  for  noble  living  as  well  as  for  fine 
painting.  Among  his  pictures  was  one  that  in 
itself  was  pure,  but  that  by  a  sensuous  mind 
might  be  interpreted  in  an  evil  way.     A  lover 


194  ^-^-^   SHADOWS    WE    CAST. 

of  art  saw  this  picture  and  purchased  it.  But 
when  it  was  gone  the  young  artist  began  to 
think  of  its  possible  hurtful  influence  on  the 
weak,  and  his  conscience  troubled  him.  He 
went  to  his  patron  and  said,  ''  I  have  come  to 
buy  back  my  picture."  The  purchaser  could 
not  understand  him.  **  Didn't  I  pay  you  enough 
for  it  .-^  Do  you  need  money.?"  he  asked.  "I 
am  poor,"  replied  the  artist,  "  but  my  art  is  my 
life.  Its  mission  must  be  good.  The  influence 
of  that  picture  may  possibly  be  harmful.  I  can- 
not be  happy  with  it  before  the  eyes  of  the 
world.     It  must  be  withdrawn." 

We  should  keep  watch  not  only  over  our 
words  and  deeds  in  their  intent  and  purpose, 
but  also  in  their  possible  influence  over  others. 
There  may  be  liberties  which  in  us  lead  to  no 
danger,  but  which  to  others,  with  less  stable 
character  and  less  helpful  environment,  would 
be  full  of  peril.  It  is  part  of  our  duty  to  think 
of  these  weaker  ones  and  of  the  influence  of 
our  example  upon  them.  We  may  not  do  any- 
thing, in  our  strength  and  security,  which  might 
possibly  harm  others.     We  must  be  willing  to 


THE  SHADOWS    WE    CAST.  195 

sacrifice  our  liberty,  if  by  its  exercise  we  en- 
danger another's  soul.  This  is  the  teaching  of 
St.  Paul  in  the  words  :  "  It  is  good  not  to  eat 
flesh,  nor  to  drink  wine,  nor  to  do  anything 
whereby  thy  brother  stumbleth";  and  ''If  meat 
maketh  my  brother  to  stumble,  I  will  eat  no  flesh 
for  evermore,  that  I  make  not  my  brother  tc 
stumble." 

How  can  we  make  sure  of  an  influence  that 
shall  be  only  a  benediction  t  There  is  no  way 
but  by  making  our  life  pure  and  good.  Just  in 
the  measure  in  which  we  are  filled  with  the 
Spirit  of  God  and  have  the  love  of  Christ  in  us, 
shall  our  influence  be  holy  and  a  blessing  to  the 
world. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  MEANING  OF  OPPORTUNITIES. 

"  '  To-day '  unsullied  comes  to  thee — newborn, 
To-morrow  is  not  thine; 
The  sun  may  cease  to  shine 
For  thee,  ere  earth  shall  greet  its  morn. 

"  Be  earnest,  then,  in  thought  and  deed, 
Nor  fear  approaching  night ; 
Calm  comes  with  evening  light, 
And  hope  and  peace.    Thy  duty  heed  '  to-day.' " 

—  RUSKIN, 

If  people's  first  thoughts  were  but  as  good 
and  wise  as  their  after-thoughts,  life  would  be 
better  and  more  beautiful  than  it  is.  We  can 
all  see  our  errors  more  clearly  after  we  have 
committed  them  than  we  saw  them  before. 
We  frequently  hear  persons  utter  the  wish  that 
they  could  go  again  over  a  certain  period  of 
their  life,  saying  that  they  would  live  it  differ- 
ently, that  they  would  not  repeat  the  mistakes 
196 


THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES,     ic^f 

or  follies  which  had  so  marred  and  stained  the 
record  they  had  made. 

Of  course  the  wish  that  one  might  have  a 
second  chance  with  any  past  period  of  time  is 
altogether  vain.  No  doubt  there  ofttimes  is 
much  reason  for  shame  and  pain  in  our  retro- 
spects. We  live  poorly  enough  at  the  best, 
even  the  saintliest  of  us,  and  many  of  us  cer- 
tainly make  sad  work  of  our  life.  Human  life 
must  appear  very  pathetic,  and  ofttimes  trag- 
ical, as  the  angels  look  down  upon  it.  There 
are  almost  infinitely  fewer  wrecks  on  the  great 
sea  where  the  ships  go,  than  on  that  other  sea 
of  which  poets  write,  where  lives  with  their 
freightage  of  immortal  hopes  and  possibilities 
sail  on  to  their  destiny.  We  talk  sometimes 
with  wonder  of  what  the  ocean  contains,  of  the 
treasures  that  lie  buried  far  down  beneath  the 
waves.  But  who  shall  tell  of  the  treasures  that 
are  hidden  in  the  deeper,  darker  sea  of  human 
life,  where  they  have  gone  down  in  the  sad 
hours  of  defeat  and  failure  ? 

*'  In  dim  green  depths  rot  ingot-laden  ships, 

While  gold  doubloons,  that  from  the  drowned  hand  fell, 


198      THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES. 

Lie  nestled  in  the  ocean-flowers'  bell 

With  love's  gemmed  rings  once  kissed  by  now  dead  lips ; 

And  round  some  wrought-gold  cup  the  sea-grass  whips, 
And  hides  lost  pearls,  near  pearls  still  in  their  shell 
Where  sea-weed  forests  fill  each  ocean  dell, 

And  seek  dim  sunlight  with  their  countless  tips. 

*'  So  lie  the  wasted  gifts,  the  long-lost  hopes, 
Beneath  the  now  hushed  surface  of  myself. 
In  lonelier  depths  than  where  the  river  gropes. 
They  lie  deep,  deep ;  but  I  at  times  behold, 
In  doubtful  glimpses,  on  some  reefy  shelf, 
The  gleam  of  irrecoverable  gold." 

Glimpses  of  these  lost  things  —  these  squan- 
dered treasures,  these  wasted  possibilities,  these 
pearls  and  gems  of  life  that  have  gone  down 
into  the  sea  of  our  past — we  may  have  when 
the  reefs  are  left  bare  by  the  refluent  tides, 
but  glimpses  only  can  we  see.  We  cannot  re- 
cover our  treasures.  The  gleams  only  mock  us. 
The  past  will  not  give  again  its  gold  and  pearls 
to  any  frantic  appealing  of  ours. 

There  is  something  truly  startling  in  this 
irreparableness  of  the  past,  this  irrevocableness 
of  the  losses  which  we  have  suffered  through 


THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES.     1 99 

our  follies  or  our  sins.  About  two  centuries 
ago  a  great  sun-dial  was  erected  in  All  Souls' 
College,  Oxford,  England,  the  largest  and  no- 
blest dial,  it  is  said,  in  the  whole  kingdom. 
Over  the  long  pointer  were  written,  in  large 
letters  of  gold,  the  Latin  words,  referring  to 
the  hours,  ^^  Pereiint  et  impiitanttir''  Literally, 
the  meaning  is,  ''  They  perish,  and  are  set  down 
to  our  account "  ;  or,  as  they  have  been  ren- 
dered in  terser  phrase,  *'  They  are  wasted,  and 
are  added  to  our  debt." 

It  is  said  that  these  words  on  the  dial  have 
exerted  a  wonderful  influence  on  the  boyhood  of 
many  of  the  distinguished  men  who  have  re- 
ceived their  training  at  Oxford,  stimulating 
them  to  the  most  conscientious  use  of  the 
golden  hours  as  they  passed,  and  bearing  fruit 
in  long  lives  of  earnestness  and  faithfulness. 
The  lesson  is  one  that  every  young  person 
should  learn.  In  youth  the  hours  are  full  of 
privileges.  They  come  like  angels,  holding 
in  their  hands  rich  treasures,  sent  to  us  from 
God,  which  they  offer  to  us ;  and  if  we  are 
laggard  or  indolent,  or  if  we  are  too  intent  on 


200    THE  M Waning  of  opportunities. 

our  own  little  trifles  to  give  welcome  to  these 
heavenly  messengers  with  their  heavenly  gifts, 
they  quickly  pass  on  and  are  gone.  And  they 
never  come  back  again  to  renew  the  offer. 

On  the  dial  of  a  clock  in  the  palace  of  Napo- 
leon at  Malmaison,  the  maker  has  put  the 
words,  ^^ No7t  nescitrevefti";  "It  does  not  know 
how  to  go  backward."  It  is  so  of  the  great 
clock  of  Time  —  it  never  can  be  turned  back- 
ward. The  moments  come  to  us  but  once ; 
whatever  we  do  with  them  we  must  do  as  they 
pass,  for  they  will  never  come  to  us  again. 

Then  privilege  makes  responsibility.  We 
shall  have  to  give  account  to  God  for  all  that  he 
sends  to  us  by  the  mystic  hands  of  the  passing 
hours,  and  which  we  refuse  or  neglect  to  receive. 
*'They  are  wasted  and  are  added  to  our  debt." 

The  real  problem  of  living,  therefore,  is  how 
to  take  what  the  hours  bring.  He  who  does 
this,  will  live  nobly  and  faithfully,  and  will 
fulfil  God's  plan  for  his  life.  The  difference 
in  men  is  not  in  the  opportunities  that  come 
to  them,  but  in  their  use  of  their  opportunities. 
Many  people  who  fail  to  make  much  of  their 


THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES.     20t 

lift  charge  their  failure  to  the  lack  of  opportuni- 
ties. They  look  at  one  who  is  continually  doing 
good  and  beautiful  things,  or  great  and  noble 
things,  and  think  that  he  is  specially  favored, 
that  the  chances  which  come  to  him  for  such 
things  are  exceptional.  Really,  however,  it  is 
in  his  capacity  for  seeing  and  accepting  what 
the  hours  bring  of  duty  or  privilege,  that  his 
success  lies.  Where  other  men  see  nothing,  he 
sees  a  battle  to  fight,  a  duty  to  perform,  a 
service  to  render,  or  an  honor  to  win.  Many 
a  man  waits  long  for  opportunities,  wondering 
why  they  never  come  to  him,  when  really  they 
have  been  passing  by  him  day  after  day,  unrec- 
ognized and  unaccepted. 

There  is  a  legend  of  an  artist,  who  long 
sought  for  a  piece  of  sandal-wood  out  of  which 
to  carve  a  Madonna.  At  last  he  was  about  to 
give  up  in  despair,  leaving  the  vision  of  his 
life  unrealized,  when  in  a  dream  he  was  bidden 
to  shape  the  figure  from  a  block  of  oak-wood, 
Vvhich  was  destined  for  the  fire.  Obeying  the 
command,  he  produced  from  the  log  of  com- 
mon firewood  a  masterpiece. 


202      THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES. 

In  like  manner  many  people  wait  for  great 
and  brilliant  opportunities  for  doing  the  good 
things,  the  beautiful  things,  of  which  they 
dream,  while  through  all  the  plain,  common 
days,  the  very  opportunities  they  require  for 
such  deeds  lie  close  to  them,  in  the  simplest 
and  most  familiar  passing  events,  and  in  the 
homeliest  circumstances.  They  wait  to  find 
sandal-wood  out  of  which  to  carve  Madonnas, 
while  far  more  lovely  Madonnas  than  they 
dream  of,  are  hidden  in  the  common  logs  of 
oak  they  burn  in  their  open  fire-place,  or 
spurn  with  their  feet  in  the  wood-yard. 

Opportunities  come  to  all.  The  days  of 
every  life  are  full  of  them.  But  the  trouble 
with  too  many  of  us  is  that  we  do  not  make 
anything  out  of  them  while  we  have  them. 
Then  next  moment  they  are  gone.  One  man 
goes  through  life  sighing  for  opportunities.  If 
only  he  had  this  or  that  gift,  or  place,  or  posi- 
tion, he  would  do  great  things,  he  says ;  but 
with  his  means,  his  poor  chances,  his  meagre 
privileges,  his  uncongenial  circumstances,  his 
limitations,  he  can  do  nothing  worthy  of  him- 


THE  MEANING   OF  OPPORTUNITIES.     203 

self.  Then  another  man  comes  up  close  beside 
him,  with  like  means,  chances,  circumstances, 
privileges,  and  he  achieves  noble  results,  does 
heroic  things,  wins  for  himself  honor  and 
renown.  The  secret  is  in  the  man,  not  in  hig 
environment.  Mr.  Sill  puts  this  well  in  hia 
lines  :  — 

"  This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream : 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain ; 
And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 
A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked  upon  swords  and  shields.     A  prince's  banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by  foes. 
A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge. 
And  thought,  '  Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel  — 
That  blue  blade  that  the  king's  son  bears — but  this 
Blunt  thing.'  —  He  snapt  and  flung  it  from  his  hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 
Then  came  the  king's  son  wounded,  sore  bestead. 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt  buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand. 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle  shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down. 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day." 

With   the   blunt   sword,    broken  now,  which 
the  craven  had  flung  away  as  unfit  for  use,  the 


204     THE  MEANING   OF  OPPORTUNITIES. 

princely  hand  won  its  great  victory.  Life  is 
full  of  illustrations  of  this  very  experience. 
The  materials  of  life  which  one  man  has 
despised  and  spurned  as  unworthy  of  him,  as 
having  in  them  no  charmed  secret  of  success, 
another  man  is  forever  picking  up  out  of  the 
dust,  and  with  them  achieving  noble  and  bril- 
liant successes.  Men,  alert  and  eager,  are 
wanted,  men  with  heroic  heart  and  princely 
hand,  to  see  and  use  the  opportunities  that 
lie  everywhere  in  the  most  commonplace  life. 
There  is  but  one  thing  to  do  to  get  out  of 
life  all  its  possibilities  of  attainment  and 
achievement ;  we  must  train  ourselves  to  take 
what  every  moment  brings  to  us  of  privilege  and 
of  duty.  Some  people  worry  themselves  over 
the  vague  wonder  as  to  what  the  divine  plan  in 
life  is  for  them.  They  have  a  feeling  that  God 
had  some  definite  purpose  in  creating  them,  and 
that  there  is  something  he  wants  them  to  do  in 
this  world,  and  they  would  like  to  know  how 
they  can  learn  this  divine  thought  for  their  life. 
The  answer  is  really  very  simple.  God  is  ready 
to  reveal  to  us,  with  unerring  definiteness,  his 


THE  MEANING   OF  OPPORTUNITIES.     205 

plan  for  our  life.  This  revealing  he  makes  as 
we  go  on,  showing  us  each  moment  one  little 
fragment  of  his  purpose.  Says  Faber :  "  The 
surest  method  of  aiming  at  a  knowledge  of 
God's  eternal  purposes  about  us  is  to  be  found 
in  the  right  use  of  the  present  moment.  Each 
hour  comes  with  some  little  fagot  of  God's  will 
fastened  upon  its  back." 

We  have  nothing  to  do,  therefore,  with  any- 
thing save  the  privilege  and  duty  of  the  one 
hour  now  passing.  This  makes  the  problem  of 
living  very  simple.  We  need  not  look  at  our 
life  as  a  whole,  nor  even  carry  the  burden  of  a 
single  year;  if  we  but  grasp  well  the  meaning 
of  the  one  little  fragment  of  time  immediately 
present,  and  do  instantly  all  the  duty  and  take 
all  the  privilege  that  the  one  hour  brings,  we 
shall  thus  do  that  which  shall  best  please  God 
and  build  up  our  own  life  into  completeness.  It 
ought  never  to  be  hard  for  us  to  do  this. 

"  God  broke  our  years  to  hours  and  days,  that  hour  by  hour 
And  day  by  day 
Just  going  on  a  little  way, 
We  might  be  able  all  along 


206     THE  MEANING    OF  OPPORTUNITIES. 

To  keep  quite  strong. 

Should  all  the  weight  of  life 
Be  laid  across  our  shoulder,  and  the  future,  rife 
With  woe  and  struggle,  meet  us  face  to  face 

At  just  one  place, 

We  could  not  go, 

Our  feet  would  stop ;  and  so 
God  lays  a  little  on  us  every  day. 
And  never,  I  believe,  on  all  the  way 

Will  burdens  bear  so  deep. 
Or  pathways  lie  so  threatening  and  so  steep, 

But  we  can  go,  if  by  God's  power 

We  only  bear  the  burden  of  the  hour." 

Living  thus  we  shall  make  each  hour  radiant 
with  the  radiancy  of  duty  well  done,  and  radiant 
hours  will  make  radiant  years.  But  the  missing 
of  privileges  and  the  neglecting  of  duties  will 
leave  days  and  years  marred  and  blemished  and 
make  the  life  at  last  like  a  moth-eaten  garment. 
We  must  catch  the  sacred  meaning  of  our 
opportunities  if  we  would  live  up  to  our  best. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

"The  sun  may  shine  upon  the  clod  till  it  is  warm, 
Warm  for  its  own  poor  darkling  self  to  live. 
He  smites  the  diamond,  and  oh,  how  glows  the  gem, 
Chilling  itself,  irradiant,  to  give. 

"  The  silent  soul,  that  takes  but  gives  not  out  again, 
In  shining  thankfulness,  a  smile,  a  tear. 
Absorbing,  makes  none  other  glad,  and  misses  so 
The  purest  and  the  best  of  love's  rich  cheer." 

—  Mary  K.  A.  Stone. 

Blessing  given  ought  always  to  have  some 
return.  It  is  better  to  be  a  diamond,  lighted  to 
shine,  than  a  clod,  warmed  to  be  only  a  dull, 
dark  clod.  We  all  receive  numberless  favors, 
but  we  do  not  all  alike  make  fitting  return. 

Krummacher  has  a  pleasant  little  fable  with  a 
suggestion.  When  Zaccheus  was  old  he  still 
dwelt  in  Jericho,  humble  and  pious  before  God 
and  man.  Every  morning  at  sunrise  he  went 
out  into  the  fields  for  a  walk,  and  he  always 
came  back  with  a  calm  and  happy  mind  to  begin 

207 


208  THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

his  day's  work.  His  wife  wondered  where  he 
went  in  his  walks,  but  he  never  spoke  to  her  of 
the  matter.  One  morning  she  secretly  followed 
him.  He  went  straight  to  the  tree  from  which 
he  first  saw  the  Lord.  Hiding  herself,  she 
watched  him  to  see  what  he  would  do.  He 
took  a  pitcher,  and  carrying  water,  he  poured  it 
about  the  tree's  roots  which  were  getting  dry 
in  the  sultry  climate.  He  pulled  up  some 
weeds  here  and  there.  He  passed  his  hand 
fondly  over  the  old  trunk.  Then  he  looked  up 
at  the  place  among  the  branches  where  he  had 
sat  that  day  when  he  first  saw  Jesus.  After 
this  he  turned  away,  and  with  a  smile  of  grati- 
tude went  back  to  his  home.  His  wife  after- 
ward referred  to  the  matter  and  asked  him  why 
he  took  such  care  of  the  old  tree.  His  quiet 
answer  was,  *'  It  was  that  tree  which  brought 
me  to  him  whom  my  soul  loveth." 

There  is  no  true  life  without  its  sacred  me- 
morial of  special  blessing  or  good.  There  is 
something  that  tells  of  favor,  of  deliverance,  of 
help,  of  influence,  of  teaching,  of  great  kind- 
ness.    There   is   some  spot,   some  quiet  walk. 


THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE.  209 

some  room,  some  book,  some  face,  that  always 
recalls  sweet  memories.  There  is  something 
that  is  precious  to  us  because  in  some  way  it 
marks  a  holy  place  in  life's  journey.  Most  of 
us  understand  that  loving  interest  of  Zaccheus 
in  his  old  tree,  and  can  believe  the  little  fancy 
to  be  even  true.  In  what  life  is  there  no  place 
that  is  always  kept  green  in  memory,  because 
there  a  sweet  bless-ing  was  received  .-* 

Yet  there  seem  to  be  many  who  forget  their 
benefits.  There  is  much  ingratitude  in  the 
world.  It  may  not  be  so  universal  as  some 
would  have  us  believe.  There  surely  are  many 
who  carry  in  their  hearts,  undimmed  for  long 
years,  the  memory  of  benefits  and  kindnesses 
received  from  friends,  and  who  never  cease  to 
be  grateful  and  to  show  their  gratitude.  Words- 
worth wrote  :  — 

*'  I've  heard  of  hearts  unkind. 

Kind  deeds  with  coldness  still  returning; 
Alas !  the  gratitude  of  men 

Hath  left  me  oftener  mourning." 

However,  Archdeacon  Farrar,  referring  to  these 
words,  says,  "  If  Wordsworth   found   gratitude 


2IO  THE   SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

a  common  virtue,  his  experience  must  have  been 
exceptional."  There  certainly  are  hearts  unkind 
that  do  return  coldness  for  kind  deeds.  There 
are  children  who  forget  the  love  and  sacrifices 
of  their  parents  and  repay  their  countless  kind- 
nesses, not  with  grateful  affection,  honor,  obe- 
dience, thoughtfulness,  and  service,  but  with 
disregard,  indifference,  disobedience,  dishonor, 
sometimes  even  with  shameful  neglect  and  un- 
kindness.  There  are  those  who  receive  help 
from  friends  in  unnumbered  ways,  through 
years,  help  that  brings  to  them  great  aid  in 
life  —  promotion,  advancement,  improvement  in 
character,  widening  of  privileges  and  opportu- 
nities, tender  kindness  that  warms,  blesses,  and 
inspires  the  heart,  and  enriches,  refines,  and 
ennobles  the  life  —  who  yet  seem  never  to  rec- 
ognize or  appreciate  the  benefit  and  the  good 
they  receive.  They  appear  to  feel  no  obligation, 
no  thankfulness.  They  make  no  return  of  love 
for  all  of  love's  ministry.  They  even  repay  it 
with  complaint,  with  criticism,  with  bitterness. 
We  have  all  known  years  of  continued  favors 
forgotten,  and  their  memory  wiped  out  by  one 


THE   SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE.  211 

small  failure  to  grant  a  new  request  for  help. 
We  have  all  known  malignant  hate  to  be  the 
return  for  long  periods  of  lavish  kindness. 

Ingratitude  is  robbery.  It  robs  those  to  whom 
gratitude  is  due,  for  it  is  the  withholding  of  that 
which  is  justly  theirs.  If  you  are  kind  to  an- 
other, is  he  not  your  debtor  t  If  you  show 
another  favors,  does  not  he  owe  you  thanks } 
True,  you  ask  no  return,  for  love  does  not  work 
for  wages.  Only  selfishness  demands  repayment 
for  help  given,  and  is  embittered  by  ingratitude. 
The  Christly  spirit  continues  to  give  and  bless, 
pouring  out  its  love  in  unstinted  measure, 
though  no  act  or  word  or  look  tells  of  gratitude. 

"  If  thy  true  service  mounted,  in  its  aim, 

No  higher  than  the  praise  that  men  bestow 
On  noble  sacrifice,  there  might  be  shame 
That  thou  hast  missed  it  so. 

"  But  not  for  selfish  gain  or  low  reward, 

Didst  thou  so  labor  under  shade  and  sun ; 
But  with  the  conscious  sense  that  for  thy  Lord 
This  weary  work  was  done. 

"He  asked  no  thanks,  no  recognition  nigh, 
No  tender  acceptation  of  his  grace. 


212  THE   SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

No  pitying  tear  from  one  responsive  eye, 
No  answering  human  face. 

"  To  do  God's  will  —  that  was  enough  for  Christ, 
'Mid  griefs  that  make  all  agonies  look  dim. 
It  shall  for  thee  suffice  —  it  hath  sufficed, 
As  it  sufficed  for  him." 

Yet  while  love  does  not  work  for  wages,  nor 
demand  an  equivalent  for  its  services,  it  is 
sorely  wronged  when  ungrateful  lips  are  dumb. 
The  quality  of  ingratitude  is  not  changed  be- 
cause faithful  love  is  not  frozen  in  the  heart  by 
its  coldness.  We  owe  at  least  loving  remem- 
brance to  one  who  has  shown  us  kindness, 
though  no  other  return  may  be  possible,  or 
though  large  return  may  already  have  been 
made.  We  can  never  be  absolved  from  the  duty 
of  being  grateful.  **  Owe  no  man  anything  but 
love  "  is  a  heavenly  word.  We  always  owe  love  ; 
that  is  a  debt  we  never  can  pay  off. 

Ingratitude  is  robbery.  But  it  is  cruelty  as 
well  as  robbery.  It  always  hurts  the  heart  that 
must  endure  it.  Few  faults  or  injuries  cause 
more  pain  and  grief  in  tender  spirits  than  in- 
gratitude.    The  pain  may  be  borne  in  silence. 


THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE.  2\^ 

Men  do  not  speak  of  it  to  others,  still  less  to 
those  whose  neglect  or  coldness  inflicts  it ;  yet 
it  is  like  thorns  in  the  pillow. 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind ; 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude." 

Parents  suffer  unspeakably  when  the  children 
for  whom  they  have  lived,  suffered,  and  sacri- 
ficed, prove  ungrateful.  The  ungrateful  child 
does  not  know  what  bitter  sorrow  he  causes  the 
mother  who  bore  him  and  nursed  him,  and  the 
father  who  loves  him  more  than  his  own  life ; 
how  their  hearts  bleed ;  how  they  weep  in  secret 
over  his  unkindness.  We  do  not  know  how  we 
hurt  our  friends  when  we  treat  them  ungrate- 
fully, forgetting  all  they  have  done  for  us,  and 
repaying  their  favors  with  coldness. 

There  is  yet  more  of  this  lesson.  Gratitude, 
to  fulfil  its  gentle  ministry,  must  find  some 
fitting  expression.  It  is  not  enough  that  it  be 
cherished  in  the  heart.  There  are  many  good 
people  who  fail  at  this  point.  They  are  really 
thankful  for  the  good  others  do  to  them.  They 
feci  kindly  enough  in  their  hearts  toward  their 


214  THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

benefactors.  Perhaps  they  speak  to  other 
friends  of  the  kindnesses  they  have  received. 
They  may  even  put  it  into  their  prayers,  telling 
God  how  they  have  been  helped  by  others  of 
his  children,  and  asking  him  to  reward  and 
bless  those  who  have  been  good  to  them.  But 
meanwhile  they  do  not  in  any  way  express  their 
grateful  feelings  to  the  persons  who  have  done 
them  the  favors  or  rendered  them  the  offices  of 
friendship. 

How  does  your  friend  know  that  you  are 
grateful,  if  you  do  not  in  some  way  tell  him 
that  you  are  ?  Verily  here  is  a  sore  fault  of 
love,  this  keeping  sealed  up  in  the  heart  the 
generous  feeling,  the  tender  gratitude,  which 
we  ought  to  speak,  and  which  would  give  so 
much  comfort  if  it  were  spoken  in  the  ear  that 
ought  to  hear  it.  No  pure,  true,  loving  human 
heart  ever  gets  beyond  being  strengthened  and 
warmed  to  nobler  service  by  words  of  honest 
and  sincere  appreciation.  Flattery  is  con- 
temptible ;  only  vain  spirits  are  elated  by  it. 
Insincerity  is  a  sickening  mockery  ;  the  sensi- 
tive soul  turns  away  from  it  in  revulsion.     But 


THE   SIN  OF  INGRA  TITUDE.  2  I  5 

words  of  true  gratitude  are  always  to  human 
hearts  Hke  cups  of  water  to  thirsty  lips.  We 
need  not  fear  turning  people's  heads  by  genuine 
expressions  of  thankfulness  ;  on  the  other  hand, 
nothing  inspires  such  humility,  such  reverent 
praise  to  God,  as  the  knowledge  which  such 
gratitude  brings,  —  that  one  has  been  used  of 
God  to  help,  or  bless,  or  comfort  another 
life. 

Silence  is  said  to  be  golden,  and  ofttimes, 
indeed,  it  is  better  than  speech.  "■  It  is  a  fine 
thing  in  friendship,"  says  George  MacDonald, 
"to  know  when  to  be  silent."  There  are  times 
when  silence  is  the  truest,  fittest,  divinest, 
most  blessed  thing,  when  words  would  only  mar 
the  hallowed  sweetness  of  love's  ministry.  But 
there  are  times  again  when  silence  is  disloyalty, 
cruelty,  unkind  as  winter  air  to  tender  plants. 
Especially  is  this  true  of  gratitude ;  to  be 
coldly  silent,  when  the  heart  is  grateful,  is  a 
sin  against  love.  When  we  have  a  word  of 
thanks  in  our  heart,  which  we  feel  we  might 
honestly  speak,  and  which  we  do  not  speak,  we 
have  sorely  wronged  our  friena. 


2l6  THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITI/DM. 

Especially  in  homes  ought  there  to  be  more 
grateful  expression.  We  wrong  home  friends 
more  than  any  other  friends.  Home  is  where 
love  is  truest  and  tenderest.  We  need  never 
fear  being  misunderstood  by  the  loved  ones 
who  there  cluster  about  us.  Yet  too  often 
home  is  the  very  place  where  we  are  most 
miserly  of  grateful  and  appreciative  words. 
We  let  gentle  spirits  starve  close  beside  us  for 
the  words  of  affectionateness  that  lie  warm,  yet 
unspoken,  on  our  tongues.  None  of  us  know 
what  joy  and  strength  we  could  impart  to  others, 
if  only  we  would  train  ourselves  to  give  fitting, 
delicate,  and  thoughtful  expression  to  the 
gratitude  that  is  in  our  hearts.  We  would 
become  blessings  to  all  about  us,  and  would 
receive  into  our  life  new  gladness.  Nothing  is 
sadder  than  the  sorrow  witnessed  about  many 
a  coffin ;  the  grief  of  bereavement  and  loss 
made  bitter  by  the  regret  that  now  the  too 
slow  gratitude  of  the  heart  shall  never  have 
opportunity  to  utter  itself  in  the  ear  which 
waited  so  long,  hungry,  and  in  vain,  for  the 
word  that  would  have  given  such  comfort. 


THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE.  21/ 

"  Over  the  coffin  pitiful  we  stand, 
And  place  a  rose  within  the  helpless  hand, 
That  yesterday,  mayhap,  we  would  not  see, 
When  it  was  meekly  offered.     On  the  heart 
That  often  ached  for  an  approving  word, 
We  lay  forget-me-nots  —  we  turn  away, 
And  find  the  world  is  colder  for  the  loss 
Of  this  so  faulty  and  so  loving  one. 

"  Think  of  that  moment,  ye  who  reckon  close 
With  love  —  so  much  for  every  gentle  thought ; 
The  moment  when  love's  richest  gifts  are  naught : 
When  a  pale  flower,  upon  a  pulseless  breast. 
Like  your  regret,  exhales  its  sweets  in  vain." 

But  it  is  not  enough  that  we  be  grateful  and 
show  our  gratitude  to  the  human  friends  who 
do  us  kindnesses.  It  is  to  God  that  we  owe  all. 
Every  good  and  perfect  gift,  no  matter  how  it 
reaches  us,  through  what  messenger,  in  what 
form,  "  Cometh  down  from  above,  from  the  Father 
of  lights."  All  the  blessings  of  Providence,  all 
the  tender  things  that  come  to  us  through  human 
love  and  friendship,  are  God's  gifts. 

**  Whence  came  the  father-heart  in  man, 
The  mother-heart  in  woman? 
The  love  throughout  the  cosmic  plan 
Which  makes  God's  children  human? 


2l8  THE  SW  OF  INGRATITUDE. 

* 
•'  These  never  came :  what  we  control 

Is  good  because  'tis  given, 

And  all  made  better  to  man's  soul 

By  the  sweet  touch  of  heaven." 

We  owe  thanks  to  God,  therefore,  for  all  that 
we  receive.  When  we  have  shown  gratitude  to 
our  human  benefactors,  we  still  owe  our  Heavenly 
Father  thanks  and  gratitude.  It  is  possible,  too, 
for  us  to  be  grateful  to  the  friends  who  help  us, 
and  yet  be  as  atheists,  never  recognizing  God, 
nor  giving  him  any  thanks.  This  is  the  sorest 
sin  of  all.  We  rob  God,  and  hurt  his  heart, 
every  time  we  receive  any  favor  at  whatsoever 
hand,  and  fail  to  speak  our  praise  to  him. 

Whatever  we  may  say  about  man's  ingrati- 
tude to  his  fellow-men,  there  is  no  question 
about  man's  lack  of  gratitude  to  God.  We  are 
continually  receiving  mercies  and  favors  from 
him,  and  yet,  are  there  not  days  and  days  with 
most  of  us,  in  which  we  lift  no  heart  and  speak 
no  word  in  praise .''  Our  prayers  are  largely 
requests  and  supplications  for  help  and  favor, 
with  but  little  adoration  and  worship.  We  con- 
tinue asking  and  asking,  and  God  continues  giv- 


THE  SIN  OF  INGRATITUDE.  219 

ing  and  giving ;  but  how  many  of  us  remember 
always  or  often  to  give  thanks  for  answered 
prayer  ?  The  angel  of  requests —  so  the  legend 
runs  —  goes  back  from  earth  heavily  laden 
every  time  he  comes  to  gather  up  the  prayers 
of  men.  But  the  angel  of  thanksgiving,  of 
gratitude,  has  almost  empty  hands  as  he 
returns  from  his  errands  to  this  world.  Yet 
ought  we  not  to  give  thanks  for  all  that  we 
receive  and  for  every  answered  request }  If 
we  were  to  do  this  our  hearts  would  always  be 
lifted  up  toward  God  in  praise. 

There  is  a  story  of  some  great  conductor  of 
a  musical  festival  suddenly  throwing  up  his 
baton,  and  stopping  the  performance,  crying, 
"Flageolet!"  The  flageolet  was  not  doing  its 
part  and  the  conductor's  trained  ear  missed  its 
one  note  in  the  large  orchestra.  Does  not 
God  miss  any  voice  that  is  silent  in  the  music 
of  earth  that  rises  up  to  him  t  And  are  there 
not  many  voices  that  are  silent,  taking  no  part 
in  the  song,  giving  forth  no  praise  }  Shall  we  not 
quickly  start  our  heart-song  of  gratitude,  calling 
upon  every  power  of  our  being  to  praise  God  "i 


CHAPTER   XXL 

SOME   SECRETS   OF   HAPPY   HOME  LIFE. 

"  The  primal  duties  shine  aloft  like  stars ; 
The  charities  that  sooth  and  heal  and  bless 
Are  scattered  at  the  feet  of  men  like  flowers. 
*        *        *        *        The  smoke  ascends 
To  heaven  as  lightly  from  the  cottage  hearth 
As  from  the  lofty  palace." 

—  William  Wordsworth. 

Home  life  ought  to  be  happy.  The  bene- 
diction of  Christ  on  every  home  to  which  he  is 
welcomed  as  an  abiding  guest  is,  ''  Peace  be  to 
this  house."  While  perfection  of  happiness  is 
unattainable  in  this  world,  rich,  deep,  heart- 
filling  happiness  certainly  may  be,  and  ought 
to  be,  attained. 

Yet  it  requires  wise  building  and  delicate 
care  to  make  a  home  truly  and  perfectly  happy. 
Such  a  home  does  not  come  as  a  matter  of 
course,  by  natural  growth,  wherever  a  family 
takes  up  its  abode.  Happiness  has  to  be 
220 


SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE.     221 

planned  for,  lived  for,  sacrificed  for,  ofttimes 
suffered  for.  Its  price  in  a  home  is  always  the 
losing  of  self  on  the  part  of  those  who  make  up 
the  household.  Home  happiness  is  the  incense 
that  rises  from  the  altar  of  mutual  self-sacrifice. 

It  may  be  said,  in  a  word,  that  Christ  him- 
self is  the  one  great,  blessed  secret  of  all  home 
happiness.  Christ  at  the  marriage  altar ; 
Christ  when  the  baby  is  born ;  Christ  when 
the  baby  dies ;  Christ  in  the  days  of  plenty  ; 
Christ  in  the  pinching  times ;  Christ  in  all  the 
household  life ;  Christ  in  the  sad  hour  when 
farewells  must  be  spoken,  when  one  goes  on 
before  and  the  other  stays,  bearing  the  burden 
of  an  unshared  grief.  Christ  is  the  secret  of 
happy  home  life. 

But  for  the  sake  of  simplicity  the  lesson  may 
be  broken  up.  For  one  thing,  the  husband  has 
much  to  do  in  solving  the  problem.  Does  a  man 
think  always  deeply  of  the  responsibility  he 
assumes  when  he  takes  a  young  wife  away 
from  the  shelter  of  mother-love  and  father-love, 
the  warmest,  softest  human  nest  in  this  world, 
^nd  leads  her  into  a  new  home,  where  his  love 


222      SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE. 

is  to  be  henceforth  her  only  shelter  ?  No  man 
is  fit  to  be  the  husband  of  a  true  woman  who  is 
not  a  good  man.  He  need  not  be  great,  nor 
brilliant,  nor  rich,  but  he  must  be  good,  or  he 
is  not  worthy  to  take  a  gentle  woman's  tender 
life  into  his  keeping. 

Then  he  must  be  a  man,  true,  brave,  gener- 
ous, manly.  He  must  be  a  good  provider.  He 
must  be  a  sober  man ;  no  man  who  comes  home 
intoxicated,  however  rarely,  is  doing  his  share  in 
making  happiness  for  his  wife  and  family.  He 
must  be  a  man  of  pure,  blameless  life,  whose 
name  shall  grow  to  be  an  honor  and  a  pride  in 
his  household.  Husbands  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  the  matter  of  happiness  at  home. 

The  wife,  too,  has  a  responsibility.  It  should 
be  understood  at  the  very  beginning,  that  good 
housekeeping  is  one  of  the  first  secrets  of  a 
happy  home.  If  a  man  must  be  a  good  pro- 
vider, a  woman  must  be  a  good  home-maker. 
No  woman  is  ready  to  marry  until  she  has  mas- 
tered the  fine  arts  of  housekeeping.  Home  is 
the  wife's  kingdom.  She  holds  very  largely  in 
her  hands  the  happiness  of  the  hearts  that  nes- 


SOME   SECRETS   OE  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE.     223 

tie  there.  The  best  husband,  the  truest,  the 
noblest,  the  gentlest,  the  richest-hearted,  cannot 
make  his  home  happy  if  his  wife  be  not  in 
every  sense  a  helpmeet.  In  the  last  analysis, 
home  happiness  does  depend  on  the  wife.  She 
is  the  true  home-maker. 

Children,  too,  are  great  blessings,  when  God 
sends  them,  bringing  into  the  home  rich  possi- 
bilities of  happiness.  They  cost  care,  and  demand 
toil  and  sacrifice,  of ttimes  causing  pain  and  grief : 
yet  the  blessing  they  bring  repays  a  thousand 
times  the  care  and  cost.  It  is  a  sacred  hour  in 
a  home  when  a  baby  is  born  and  laid  in  the  arms 
of  a  young  father  and  mother.  It  brings  frag- 
ments of  heaven  trailing  after  it  to  the  home  of 
earth.  There  are  few  deeper,  purer  joys  ever 
experienced  in  this  world  than  the  joy  of  true 
parents  at  the  birth  of  a  child.  Much  of  home's 
happiness  along  the  years  is  made  by  the  chil- 
dren. We  say  we  train  them,  but  they  train  us 
ofttimes  more  than  we  train  them.  Our  lives 
grow  richer,  our  hearts  are  opened,  our  love  be- 
comes holier  when  the  children  are  about  us. 
Croons  a  young  mother  over  her  babe  : — . 


224     ^OME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE. 

**  And  art  thou  mine,  thou  helpless,  trembling  thing, 
Thou  lovely  presence  ?     Bird,  where  is  thy  wing  ? 
How  pure  thou  art !  fresh  from  the  fields  of  light, 
Where  angels  garner  grain  in  robes  of  white. 

"Didst  thou  bring  'sealed  instructions'  with  thee,  dove, 
How  to  unlock  the  fount  of  mother-love  ? 
Full  well  dost  thou  fulfil  thy  winsome  part; 
With  holy  fire  they're  writ  upon  my  heart. 

•'  My  child,  I  fear  thee  !  thou'rt  a  spirit,  soul ! 
How  shall  I  walk  before  thee  ?  keep  my  garments  whole  ? 
O  Lord,  give  strength,  give  wisdom  for  the  task, 
To  train  this  child  for  thee  !     Yet  more  I  ask : 

"  Life  of  my  life,  for  thee  I  crave  best  gifts  and  glad, 
More  than,  even  in  dreams,  thy  mother  had ! 
O  Father  !  fine  this  gold  !     Oh,  polish  this,  my  gem! 
Till  it  is  fair  and  fitting  for  thy  diadem." 

Jesus  said  of  little  children  that  those  who  re- 
ceive them,  in  his  name,  receive  him.  May  we  not 
then  say  that  children  bring  great  possibility  of 
blessing  and  happiness  to  a  home  ?  They  come 
to  us  as  messengers  from  heaven,  bearing  mes- 
sages from  God.  Yet  we  may  not  knov/  their 
value  while  we  have  them.    Ofttimes,  indeed,  it  is 


SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE.     225 

only  the  empty  crib  and  the  empty  arms  that  reveal 
to  us  the  full  measure  of  home  happiness  that  we 
get  from  the  children.  Those  to  whom  God  gives 
children  should  receive  them  with  reverence. 
There  are  homes  where  mothers,  who  once  wea- 
ried easily  of  children's  noises,  sit  now  with 
aching  hearts,  and  would  give  the  world  to  have  a 
baby  to  nurse,  or  a  rollicking  boy  to  care  for.  Chil- 
dren are  among  the  secrets  of  a  happy  home. 

Turning  to  the  life  of  the  household,  affec- 
tionateness  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  happiness. 
There  are  hundreds  of  homes  in  which  there  is 
love  that  would  die  for  its  dear  ones  ;  and  yet 
hearts  are  starving  there  for  love's  daily  bread. 
There  is  a  tendency  in  some  homes  to  smother 
all  of  love's  tenderness,  to  suppress  it,  to  choke 
it  back.  There  are  homes  where  the  amenities 
of  aftectlcn  are  unknown,  and  where  hearts 
starve  for  daily  bread.  There  are  husbands 
and  wives  between  whom  love's  converse  has 
settled  into  the  baldest  conventionalities. 
There  are  parents  who  never  kiss  their  children 
after  they  are  babies,  and  who  discourage  in 
them  as  they  grow  up  all  longing  for  caresses. 


226     SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE. 

There  are  homes  whose  daily  life  is  marred  by 
incessant  petty  strifes  and  discourtesies. 

These  are  not  exaggerations.  Yet  there  is 
love  in  these  homes,  and  all  that  is  needed  is 
that  it  be  set  free  to  perform  its  sweet  ministry. 
There  are  cold,  cheerless  homes  which  could  be 
warmed  into  love's  richest  glow  in  a  little  while, 
if  all  the  hearts  of  the  household  were  to  grow 
affectionate  in  expression.  Does  the  busy  hus- 
band think  that  his  weary  wife  would  not  care 
any  longer  for  the  caresses  and  marks  of  ten- 
derness with  which  he  used  to  thrill  her  .-*  Let 
him  return  again  for  a  month  to  his  old-time 
fondness,  and  then  ask  her  if  these  youthful 
amenities  are  distasteful  to  her.  Do  parents 
think  their  grown-up  children  are  too  big  to  be 
petted,  to  be  kissed  at  meeting  and  parting  .-* 
Let  them  restore  again,  for  a  time,  something 
of  the  affectionateness  of  the  childhood  days, 
and  see  if  there  is  not  a  blessing  in  it.  Many 
who  are  longing  for  richer  home  happiness, 
need  only  to  pray  for  a  spring-time  of  love, 
with  a  tenderness  that  is  not  afraid  of  affec- 
tionate expression. 


SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE.     22/ 

"  Comfort  one  another ; 

With  the  hand-clasp  close  and  tender, 

With  the  sweetness  love  can  render, 
And  looks  of  friendly  eyes. 

Do  not  wait  with  grace  unspoken 

While  life's  daily  bread  is  broken : 
Gentle  speech  is  oft  like  manna  from  the  skies/^ 

We  ought  not  to  fear  to  speak  our  love  at 
home.  We  should  get  all  the  tenderness  pos- 
sible into  the  daily  household  life.  We  should 
make  the  morning  good-byes,  as  we  part  at  the 
breakfast-table,  kindly  enough  for  final  fare- 
wells ;  for  they  may  be  indeed  final  farewells. 
Many  go  out  in  the  morning  who  never  come 
home  at  night ;  therefore,  we  should  part,  even 
for  a  few  hours,  with  kindly  word,  with  linger- 
ing pressure  of  the  hand,  lest  we  may  never 
look  again  in  each  other's  eyes.  Tenderness  in 
a  home  is  not  a  childish  weakness,  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  ashamed  of ;  it  is  one  of  love's 
sacred  duties.  Affectionate  expression  is  one 
of  the  secrets  of  happy  home  life. 

Religion  is  another  of  these  secrets.  It  is 
where  the  Gospel  of  Christ  is  welcomed  that 


228     SOME  SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE. 

heaven's  benediction  falls  :  "  Peace  be  to  this 
house."  There  may  be  a  certain  measure  of 
happiness  in  a  home  without  Christ,  but  it  lacks 
something  at  best,  and  then  when  sorrow  comes, 
and  the  sun  of  earthly  joy  is  darkened,  there  are 
no  lamps  of  heavenly  comfort  to  lighten  the 
darkness.  Sad  indeed  is  the  Christless  home, 
when  a  beloved  one  lies  dead  within  its  doors. 
No  words  of  Christian  comfort  have  any  power 
to  console,  because  there  is  no  faith  to  receive 
them.  No  stars  shine  through  their  cypress- 
trees.  But  how  different  it  is  in  the  Christian 
home,  in  like  sorrow  !  The  grief  is  just  as  sore, 
but  the  truth  of  immortality  sheds  holy  light 
on  the  darkness,  and  there  is  a  deep  joy  which 
transfigures  the  sorrow. 

Then  may  we  not  even  put  sorrow  down  as 
one  of  the  secrets  of  happiness  in  a  true  Chris- 
tian home }  This  may  seem  at  first  thought  a 
strange  suggestion.  But  there  surely  are  homes 
that  have  passed  through  experiences  of  afflic- 
tion that  have  a  deeper,  richer,  fuller  joy  now 
than  they  had  before  the  grief  came.  The  sor- 
row sobered  their  gladness,  making  it  less  hila- 


SOME   SECRETS   OF  HAPPY  HOME  LIFE.     22^ 

rious,  but  no  less  sweet.  Bereavement  drew  all 
the  home  hearts  closer  together.  The  loss  of 
one  from  the  circle  made  those  that  remained 
dearer  to  each  other  than  before.  The  tears 
became  crystalline  lenses  through  which  faith 
saw  more  deeply  into  heaven.  Then  in  the 
sorrow  Christ  came  nearer,  entering  more  really 
into  the  life  of  the  home.  Prayer  has  meant 
more  since  the  dark  days.  There  has  been  a 
new  fragrance  of  love  in  the  household.  There 
are  many  homes  whose  present  rich,  deep,  quiet 
happiness  sorrow  helped  to  make. 

But  it  is  not  in  sorrow  only  that  religion  gives 
its  benediction.  It  makes  all  the  happiness 
sweeter  to  have  the  assurance  of  God's  love  and 
favor  abiding  in  the  household.  Burdens  are 
lighter  because  there  is  One  who  shares  them 
all.  The  morning  prayer  of  the  family,  when 
all  bow  together,  makes  the  whole  day  fairer; 
and  the  evening  prayer  before  sleep,  makes  all 
feel  safer  for  the  night.  Then  religion  inspires 
unselfishness,  thoughtfulness,  the  spirit  of  mu- 
tual helpfulness,  of  burden-bearing,  and  serving, 
and  thus  enriches  the  home  life. 


230     SOME  SECRETS    OE  HAPPY  HOME  LIEE. 

After  a  while  the  young  folks  scatter  away^ 
setting  up  homes  of  their  own.  How  beautiful 
it  is  then  to  see  the  old  couple,  who,  thirty  or 
forty  years  before,  stood  together  at  the  mar- 
riage altar,  standing  together  still,  with  love  as 
true  and  pure  and  tender  as  ever,  waiting  to  go 
home.  By  and  by  the  husband  goes  away  and 
comes  back  no  more,  and  then  the  wife  is  lone- 
some and  longs  to  go  too.  A  little  later  and 
she  also  is  gone,  and  they  are  together  again  on 
the  other  side,  those  dear  old  lovers,  to  be 
parted  henceforth  nevermore.  And  that  is  the 
blessed  end  of  a  happy  Christian  home. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

GOD'S  WINTER  PLANTS. 

"The  wind  that  blows  can  never  kill 

The  tree  God  plants; 
It  bloweth  east ;  it  bloweth  west ; 
The  tender  leaves  have  little  rest, 
But  any  wind  that  blows  is  best. 

The  tree  God  plants 
Strikes  deeper  root,  grows  higher  still, 
Spreads  wider  boughs,  for  God's  good-will 

Meets  all  its  wants." 

—  LiLLIE  E.   BARR. 

One  of  the  papers  tells  of  a  newly  discovered 
flower.  It  is  called  the  snow-flower.  It  has  been 
found  in  the  northern  part  of  Siberia.  The 
plant  shoots  up  out  of  the  ice  and  frozen  soil. 
It  has  three  leaves,  each  about  three  inches  in 
diameter.  They  grow  on  the  side  of  the  stem 
toward  the  north.  Each  of  the  leaves  appears 
to  be  covered  with  little  crystals  of  snow.  The 
flower,  when  it  opens,  is  star-shaped,  its  petals 
being  of  the  same  length   as   the   leaves,    and 

231 


232  GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS. 

about  half  an  inch  in  width.  On  the  third  day 
the  extremities  of  the  anthers  show  minute 
gHstening  specks,  Hke  diamonds,  which  are  the 
seeds  of  this  wonderful  flower. 

Is  not  this  strange  snow-flower  an  illustration 
of  many  Christian  lives .-'  God  seems  to  plant 
them  in  the  ice  and  snow ;  yet  they  live  and 
grow  up  out  of  the  wintry  cold  into  fair  and 
wondrous  beauty.  We  should  say  that  the  love- 
liest lives  of  earth  would  be  those  that  are  reared 
amid  the  gentlest,  kindliest  influences,  under 
summer  skies,  in  the  warm  atmosphere  of  ease 
and  comfort.  But  the  truth  is  that  the  noblest 
developments  of  Christian  character  are  grown 
in  the  wintry  garden  of  hardship,  struggle,  and 
sorrow. 

Trial  should  not,  therefore,  be  regarded  with 
discouragement,  as  something  which  will  stunt 
and  dwarf  the  life  and  mar  its  beauty.  It  should 
be  accepted  rather,  when  it  comes,  as  part  of 
God's  discipline,  through  which  he  would  bring 
out  the  noblest  and  best  possibilities  of  our 
character.  Perhaps  we  would  be  happier  for 
the  time  if  we  had  easier,  more  congenial  con- 


GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS.  233 

ditions.  Children  might  be  happier  without 
restraint,  without  family  government,  without 
chastening  —  just  left  to  grow  up  into  all  wil- 
fulness and  waywardness.  But  there  is  some- 
thing better  in  life  than  present  happiness. 
Disciplined  character  in  manhood,  even  though 
it  has  been  gotten  through  stern  and  severe 
home-training,  is  better  than  a  childhood  and 
youth  of  unrestraint,  with  a  worthless  manhood 
as  the  outcome.  A  noble  life,  bearing  God's 
image,  even  at  the  price  of  much  pain  and  self- 
denial,  is  better  than  years  of  freedom  from  care 
and  sacrifice  with  a  life  unblessed  and  lost  at  the 
end.  "  To  serve  God  and  love  him,"  says  one, 
*'  is  higher  and  better  than  happiness,  though  it 
be  with  wounded  feet  and  bleeding  hands  and 
heart  loaded  with  sorrow." 

"  So  much  we  miss 
If  love  is  weak ;   so  much  we  gain 
If  love  is  strong.     God  thinks  no  pain 
Too  sharp  or  lasting  to  ordain 
To  teach  us  this." 

It  is  well  that  we  should  understand  how  to 
receive  trial  so  as  to  get  from  its  hard  experi- 


234  GOD'S   WINTER  PLANTS. 

ence  the  good  it  has  for  us.  For  one  thing,  we 
should  accept  it  always  reverently.  Resistance 
forfeits  the  blessing  which  can  be  yielded  only 
to  the  loving,  submissive  spirit.  Teachableness 
is  the  unvarying  condition  of  learning.  To  rebel 
against  trial  is  to  miss  whatever  good  it  may 
have  brought  for  us.  There  are  some  who  re- 
sent all  severity  and  suffering  in  their  lot  as 
unkindness  in  God.  These  grow  no  better 
under  divine  chastening,  but  instead  are  hurt  by 
it.  When  we  accept  the  conditions  of  our  life, 
however  hard,  as  divinely  ordained,  and  as  the 
very  conditions  in  which,  for  a  time,  we  will 
grow  the  best,  we  are  ready  to  get  from  them 
the  blessing  and  good  intended  in  them  for  us. 
Another  important  suggestion  is  that  we  faint 
not  under  trial.  There  are  those  who  give  up 
and  lose  all  their  courage  and  faith  when  trouble 
comes.  They  cannot  endure  suffering.  Sorrow 
crushes  them.  They  break  down  at  once  under 
a  cross  and  think  they  never  can  go  on  again. 
There  have  been  many  lives  crushed  by  affliction 
or  adversity,  which  have  not  risen  again  out  of 
the  dust.     There  have  been  mothers,  happy  and 


GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS.  235 

faithful  before,  out  of  whose  home  one  child  has 
been  taken,  and  who  have  lost  all  interest  in 
life  from  that  day,  letting  their  home  grow 
dreary  and  desolate  and  their  other  children  go 
uncared  for,  as  they  sat  with  folded  hands  in  the 
abandonment  of  their  despairing,  uncomforted 
grief.  There  have  been  men  with  bright  hopes, 
who  have  suffered  one  defeat  or  met  with  one 
loss,  and  then  have  let  go  in  their  discourage- 
ment and  have  fallen  into  the  dust  of  failure, 
never  trying  to  rise  again. 

Nothing  is  sadder  in  life  than  such  yieldings. 
They  are  unworthy  of  immortal  beings.  The 
divine  intention  in  trial  never  is  to  crush  us,  but 
always  to  do  good  to  us  in  some  way,  to  bring 
out  in  us  new  energy  of  life.  Whatever  the 
loss,  struggle,  or  sorrow,  we  should  accept  it  in 
love,  humility,  and  faith,  take  its  lessons,  and 
then  go  on  into  the  life  that  is  before  us.  When 
one  child  is  taken  out  of  a  home,  the  mother 
should,  with  more  reverent  heart  and  more 
gentle  hand,  turn  the  whole  energy  of  her  chas- 
tened life  into  love's  channels,  living  more  than 
ever  before  for  her  home  and  the  children  that 


236  GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS. 

are  left  to  her.  The  man  who  has  felt  the  stun- 
ning blow  of  a  sudden  grief  or  loss  should  kiss 
the  hand  of  God  that  has  smitten,  and  quickly 
arise  and  press  onward  to  the  battles  and  duties 
before  him.  We  should  never  accept  any  defeat 
as  final.  Though  it  be  in  life's  last  hours,  with 
only  a  mere  fringe  of  margin  left,  and  all  our 
past  failure  and  loss,  still  we  should  not  despair. 

"  What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright, 
Be  now  forever  taken  from  my  sight ; 
Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
Of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower, 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind." 

There  is  nowhere  any  better  illustration  of 
the  way  we  should  always  rise  again  out  of  trial 
than  we  have  in  the  life  of  St.  Paul.  From  the 
day  of  his  conversion  till  the  day  of  his  death, 
trouble  followed  him.  He  was  misunderstood ; 
he  was  cast  out  for  Christ's  sake ;  he  met  per- 
secution in  every  form ;  he  was  shipwrecked ; 
he  lay  in  dungeons ;  he  was  deserted  by  his 
friends.  But  he  never  fainted,  never  grew  dis- 
couraged, never  spoke  one  word  about  giving 


GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS.  237 

up.  "  Cast  down,  but  not  destroyed,"  was  the 
story  of  his  Hfe.  He  quickly  arose  out  of  every 
trial,  every  adversity,  with  a  new  light  in  his 
eye,  a  new  enthusiasm  in  his  heart.  He  could 
not  be  defeated,  for  he  had  Christ  in  him. 
Shall  we  not  catch  St.  Paul's  unconquerable 
spirit,  that  we  may  never  faint  in  any  trial } 

It  requires  faith  to  meet  trouble  and  adversity 
heroically.  Undoubtedly,  at  the  time,  the  bless- 
ing is  not  apparent  in  the  sorrow  or  the  defeat. 
All  seems  disastrous  and  destructive.  It  is  in 
the  future,  in  the  outworking,  that  the  good  is 
to  come.  It  is  a  matter  of  faith,  not  of  sight. 
"  All  chastening  seemeth  for  the  present  to  be 
not  joyous,  but  grievous ;  yet  afterward  it  yield- 
eth  peaceable  fruit  unto  them  that  have  been 
exercised  thereby,  even  the  fruit  of  righteous- 
ness." Oh,  the  blessing  of  God's  "afterwards" ! 
Jacob  one  day  thought  and  said  that  all  things 
were  against  him,  but  afterward  he  saw  that 
his  great  afflictions  and  losses  were  wrought  in 
as  parts  of  a  beautiful  plan  of  love  for  him.  The 
disciples  thought  that  the  cross  was  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  their  Messianic  hopes;  afterward  they 


238  GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS. 

* 

saw  that  it  was  the  very  fulfilment  of  these  hopes. 
The  pruning,  which  at  the  time  cuts  so  into  the 
life  of  the  vine,  lopping  off  great,  rich  branches, 
afterward  is  seen  to  have  been  the  saving  and 
enriching  of  the  whole  vine.  So  we  always 
need  faith.  We  must  believe  against  appear- 
ances. 

"Under  the  fount  of  ill 
Many  a  cup  doth  fill, 

And  the  patient  lip,  though  it  drinketh  oft, 
Finds  only  the  bitter  still. 

"Nevertheless,  I  know. 
Out  of  the  dark  must  grow, 
Sooner  or  later,  whatever  is  fair, 
Since  the  heavens  have  willed  it  so." 

Back  and  forth  the  plough  was  driven.  The 
field  was  covered  with  grasses  and  lovely  flow- 
ers, but  remorselessly  through  them  all  the 
share  tore  its  way,  cutting  furrow  after  furrow. 
It  seemed  that  all  the  beauty  was  being  hope- 
3essly  destroyed.  But  by  and  by  harvest-time 
came,  and  the  field  waved  with  golden  wheat. 
That  was  what  the  ploughman's  faith  saw  from 
tl*e  beginning. 


GOD'S    WINTER  PLANTS.  239 

Sorrow  seems  to  destroy  the  life  of  a  child  of 
God.  Its  rude  share  ploughs  again  and  again 
through  it,  making  many  a  deep  furrow,  gashing 
its  beauty.  But  afterward  a  harvest  of  blessing 
and  good  grows  up  out  of  the  crushed  and 
broken  life.  That  is  what  God  intends  always 
in  trial  and  sorrow. 

Let  us  have  the  ploughman's  faith,  and  we 
shall  not  faint  when  the  share  is  driven  through 
our  heart.  Then  by  faith  we  shall  see  beyond 
the  pain  and  trial  the  blessing  of  richer  life,  of 
whiter  holiness,  of  larger  fruitfulness.  And  to 
win  that  blessing  will  be  worth  all  the  pain  and 
trial. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING. 

"  Let  me  not  die  before  I've  done  for  thee 
My  earthly  work,  whatever  it  may  be. 
Call  me  not  hence,  with  mission  unfulfilled; 
Let  me  not  leave  my  space  of  ground  untilled ; 
Impress  this  truth  upon  me,  that  not  one 
Can  do  my  portion,  that  I  leave  undone." 

We  are  all  builders.  We  may  not  erect  any 
house  or  temple  on  a  city  street,  for  human  eyes 
to  see,  but  every  one  of  us  builds  a  fabric  which 
God  and  angels  see.  Life  is  a  building.  It 
rises  slowly,  day  by  day,  through  the  years. 
Every  new  lesson  we  learn  lays  a  block  on  the 
edifice  which  is  rising  silently  within  us.  Every 
experience,  every  touch  of  another  life  on  ours, 
every  influence  that  impresses  us,  every  book 
we  read,  every  conversation  we  have,  every  act 
of  our  commonest  days,  adds  something  to  the 
invisible  building.  Sorrow,  too,  has  its  place  in 
240 


UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING.  24 1 

preparing  the  stones  to  lie  on  the  life-wall.     All 
life  furnishes  the  material. 

'  *  Oui  to-days  and  yesterdays 
Are  the  blocks  with  which  we  build." 

There  are  many  noble  fabrics  of  character 
reared  in  this  world.  But  there  are  also  many 
who  build  only  low,  mean  huts,  without  beauty, 
which  will  be  swept  away  in  the  testing-fires  of 
judgment.  There  are  many,  too,  whose  life- 
work  presents  the  spectacle  of  an  unfinished 
building.  There  was  a  beautiful  plan  to  begin 
with,  and  the  work  promised  well  for  a  little 
time ;  but  after  a  while  it  was  abandoned  and 
left  standing,  with  walls  half-way  up,  a  useless 
fragment,  open  and  exposed,  an  incomplete, 
inglorious  ruin,  telling  no  story  of  past  splendor 
as  do  the  ruins  of  some  old  castle  or  coliseum, 
a  monument  only  of  folly  and  failure. 

''There  is  nothing  sadder,"  writes  one,  "than 
an  incomplete  ruin ;  one  that  has  never  been  of 
use ;  that  never  was  what  it  was  meant  to  be ; 
about  which  no  pure,  holy,  lofty  associations 
cHng,  no  thoughts   of   battles  fought   and  vie- 


242  UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING. 

tories  won,  or  of  defeats  as  glorious  as  victories. 
God  sees  them  where  we  do  not.  The  highest 
tower  may  be  more  unfinished  than  the  lowest 
to  him." 

We  must  not  forget  the  truth  of  this  last 
sentence.  There  are  lives  which  to  our  eyes 
seem  only  to  have  been  begun  and  then  aban- 
doned, which  to  God's  eyes  are  still  rising  into 
more  and  more  graceful  beauty.  Here  is  one 
who  besran  his  life-work  with  all  the  ardor  of 
youth  and  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  consecrated 
spirit.  For  a  time  his  hand  never  tired,  his 
energy  never  slackened.  Friends  expected 
great  things  from  him.  Then  his  health  gave 
way.  The  diligent  hand  lies  idle  and  waiting 
now.  His  enthusiasm  no  more  drives  him 
afield.     His  work  lies  unfinished. 

"What  a  pity!"  men  say.  But  wait!  He 
has  not  left  an  unfinished  life-work  as  God  sees 
it.  He  is  resting  in  submission  at  the  Master's 
feet  and  is  growing  meanwhile  as  a  Christian. 
The  spiritual  temple  in  his  soul  is  rising  slowly 
in  the  silence.  Every  day  is  adding  something 
to  the  beauty  of  his  character,  as  he  learns  the 


UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING.  243 

lessons  of  patience,  confidence,  peace,  joy,  love. 
His  building  at  the  last  will  be  more  beautiful 
than  if  he  had  been  permitted  to  toil  on  through 
many  busy  years,  carrying  out  his  own  plans. 
He  is  fulfilling  God's  purpose  for  his  life. 

We  must  not  measure  spiritual  building  by 
earthly  standards.  Where  the  heart  remains 
loyal  and  true  to  Christ ;  where  the  cross  of 
suffering  is  taken  up  cheerfully  and  borne 
sweetly ;  where  the  spirit  is  obedient  though  the 
hands  lie  folded  and  the  feet  must  be  still,  the 
temple  rises  continually  toward  finished  beauty. 

Or  here  is  one  who  dies  in  early  youth. 
There  was  great  promise  in  the  beautiful  life. 
Affection  had  reared  for  it  a  noble  fabric  of 
hope.  Perhaps  the  oeauty  had  begun  to  shine 
out  in  the  face,  and  the  hands  had  begun  to 
show  their  skill.  Then  death  came  and  all  the 
fair  hopes  were  folded  away.  The  visions  of 
loveliness  and  the  dreams  of  noble  attainments 
and  achievements  lay  like  withered  flowers  upon 
the  grave.  An  unfinished  life !  friends  cry  in 
their  disappointment  and  sorrow.  So  it  seems, 
surely,  to  love's  eyes,  from  the  earth-side.     But 


244  UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING. 

SO  it  is  not,  as  God's  eye  looks  upon  it.  There 
is  nothing  unfinished  that  fulfils  the  divine 
plan.  God  cuts  off  no  young  life  till  its  earthly 
work  is  done.  Then  the  soul-building  which 
began  here  and  seemed  to  be  interrupted  by 
death,  was  only  hidden  from  our  eyes  by  a  thin 
veil,  behind  which  it  still  goes  up  with  unbroken 
continuity,  rising  into  fairest  beauty  in  the 
presence  of  God. 

But  there  are  abandoned  life-buildings  whose 
story  tells  only  of  shame  and  failure.  Many 
persons  begin  to  follow  Christ,  and  after  a  little 
time  turn  away  from  their  profession  and  leave 
only  a  pretentious  beginning  to  stand  as  a  ruin 
to  be  laughed  at  by  the  world  and  to  dishonor 
the  Master's  name. 

Sometimes  it  is  discouragement  that  leads 
men  to  give  up  the  work  to  which  they  have 
put  their  hand.  In  one  of  his  poems,  Words- 
worth tells  a  pathetic  story  of  a  straggling  heap 
of  unhewn  stones,  and  the  beginning  of  a  sheep- 
fold  which  was  never  finished.  With  his  wife 
and  only  son,  old  Michael,  a  Highland  shepherd, 
dwelt  for  many  years  in  peace.      But   trouble 


UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING.  245 

came  which  made  it  necessary  that  the  son 
should  go  away  to  do  for  himself  for  a  while. 
For  a  time  good  reports  came  from  him,  and 
the  old  shepherd  would  go  out  when  he  had 
leisure  and  would  work  on  the  sheepfold  which 
he  was  building.  By  and  by,  however,  sad 
news  came  from  Luke.  In  the  great  dissolute 
city  he  had  given  himself  to  evil  courses. 
Shame  fell  on  him  and  he  was  driven  to  seek  a 
hiding-place  beyond  the  seas.  The  sad  tidings 
broke  the  old  father's  heart.  He  went  about 
as  before,  caring  for  his  sheep.  To  the  hollow 
dell,  too,  he  would  repair  from  time  to  time, 
meaning  to  build  at  the  unfinished  fold.  But 
the  neighbors  in  their  pity  noticed  that  he  did 
little  work  in  those  sad  days. 

"  'Tis  believed  by  all 
That  many  and  many  a  day  he  thither  went 
And  never  lifted  up  a  single  stone. 
There  by  the  sheepfold  sometimes  was  he  seen 
Sitting  alone,  with  that  his  faithful  dog, 
Then  old,  beside  him,  lying  at  his  feet. 
The  length  of  full  seven  years  from  time  to  time 
He  at  the  building  of  his  sheepfold  wrought, 
And  left  the  work  unfinished  when  he  died." 


246  UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUIIDING. 

Years  after  the  shepherd  was  gone  the  re- 
mains of  the  unfinished  fpld  were  still  there,  a 
sad  memorial  of  one  who  began  to  build  but  did 
not  finish.  Sorrow  broke  his  heart  and  his 
hand  slacked. 

Too  often  noble  life-buildings  are  abandoned 
in  the  time  of  sorrow,  and  the  hands  that  were 
quick  and  skilful  before  grief  came,  hang  down 
and  do  nothing  more  on  the  temple-wall.  In- 
stead, however,  of  giving  up  our  work  and  fal- 
tering in  our  diligence,  we  should  be  inspired 
by  sorrow  to  yet  greater  earnestness  in  all  duty 
and  greater  fidelity  in  all  life.  God  does  not 
want  us  to  faint  under  chastening,  but  to  go  on 
with  our  work,  quickened  to  new  earnestness 
by  grief. 

Want  of  faith  is  another  cause  which  leads 
many  to  abandon  their  life-temples  unfinished. 
Throngs  followed  Christ  in  the  earlier  days  of 
his  ministry  when  all  seemed  bright,  who,  when 
they  saw  the  shadow  of  the  cross,  turned  back 
and  walked  no  more  with  him.  They  lost  their 
faith  in  him.  It  is  startling  to  read  how  near 
even  our  Lord's  apostles  came  to  leaving  their 


UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING,  247 

buildings  unfinished.  Had  not  their  faith  come 
again  after  their  Master  arose,  they  would  have 
left  in  this  world  only  sad  memorials  of  failure 
instead  of  glorious  finished  temples. 

In  these  very  days  there  are  many  who, 
through  the  losing  of  their  faith,  are  abandon- 
ing their  work  on  the  wall  of  the  temple  of 
Christian  discipleship,  which  they  have  begun 
to  build.  Who  does  not  know  those  who  once 
were  earnest  and  enthusiastic  in  Christian  life, 
while  there  was  but  little  opposition,  but  who 
fainted  and  failed  when  it  became  hard  to  con- 
fess Christ  and  walk  with  him  .'* 

Then  sin,  in  some  form,  draws  many  a  builder 
away  from  his  work,  to  leave  it  unfinished.  It 
may  be  the  world's  fascinations  that  draw  him 
from  Christ's  side.  It  may  be  sinful  human 
companionships  that  lure  him  from  loyal  friend- 
ship to  his  Saviour.  It  may  be  riches  that 
enter  his  heart  and  blind  his  eyes  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  heaven.  It  may  be  some  secret,  debas- 
ing lust  that  gains  power  over  him  and  para- 
lyzes his  spiritual  life.  Many  are  there  now, 
amid  the  world's  throngs,  who  once  sat  at  the 


248  UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING. 

Lord's  Table  and  were  among  God's  people. 
Unfinished  buildings  their  lives  are,  towers  be- 
gun with  great  enthusiasm  and  then  left  to  tell 
their  sad  story  of  failure  to  all  who  pass  by. 
They  began  to  build  and  were  not  able  to  finish. 

It  is  sad  to  think  how  much  of  this  unfinished 
work  God's  angels  see  as  they  look  down  upon 
our  earth.  Think  of  the  good  beginnings  which 
never  come  to  anything  in  the  end ;  the  excel- 
lent resolutions  which  are  never  carried  out, 
the  noble  life-plans  entered  upon  by  so  many 
young  people  with  ardent  enthusiasm,  but  soon 
given  up.  Think  of  the  beautiful  visions  and 
fair  hopes  which  might  be  made  splendid  real- 
ities, but  which  fade  out,  not  leaving  the  record 
of  even  one  sincere,  earnest  effort  to  work  them 
into  reality. 

In  all  lines  of  life  we  see  these  abandoned 
buildings.  The  business  world  is  full  of  them. 
Men  began  to  build,  but  in  a  little  time  they 
were  gone,  leaving  their  work  uncompleted. 
They  set  out  with  gladness,  but  tired  at  length 
of  the  toil,  or  grew  disheartened  at  the  slow 
coming  of  success,  and  abandoned   their  ideal 


UNFINISHED   UFE-BVILDING.  249 

when  it  was  perhaps  just  ready  to  be  realized. 
Many  homes  present  the  spectacle  of  abandoned 
dreams  of  love.  For  a  time  the  beautiful  vision 
shone  in  radiance,  and  two  hearts  sought  to 
make  it  come  true,  but  then  gave  it  up  in 
despair. 

So  life  everywhere  is  full  of  beginnings  never 
carried  out  to  completion.  There  is  not  a  soul- 
wreck  on  the  streets,  not  a  prisoner  serving  out 
a  sentence  behind  iron  bars,  not  a  debased, 
fallen  one  anywhere,  in  whose  soul  there  were 
not  once  visions  of  beauty,  bright  hopes,  holy 
thoughts  and  purposes,  and  high  resolves  —  an 
ideal  of  something  lovely  and  noble.  But  alas  ! 
the  visions,  the  hopes,  the  purposes,  the  resolves, 
never  grew  into  more  than  beginnings.  God's 
angels  bend  down  and  see  a  great  wilderness 
of  unfinished  fabrics,  splendid  possibilities  unful- 
filled, noble  might-have-beens  abandoned,  ghastly 
ruins  now,  sad  memorials  only  of  failure. 

The  lesson  from  all  this  is,  that  we  should 
finish  our  work,  that  we  should  allow  nothing 
to  draw  us  away  from  our  duty,  that  we  should 
never  weary  in  following  Christ,  that  we  should 


2  50  UNFINISHED  LIFE-BUILDING. 

hold  fast  the  beginning  of  our  confidence  stead- 
fast unto  the  end.  We  should  not  falter  under 
any  burden,  in  the  face  of  any  danger,  before 
any  demand  of  cost  and  sacrifice.  No  discour- 
agement, no  sorrow,  no  worldly  attraction,  no 
hardship,  should  weaken  for  one  moment  our 
determination  to  be  faithful  unto  death.  No 
one  who  has  begun  to  build  for  Christ  should 
leave  an  unfinished,  abandoned  life-work  to 
grieve  the  heart  of  the  Master  and  to  be  sneered 
at  as  a  reproach  to  the  name  he  bears. 

Yet  we  must  remember,  lest  we  be  discour- 
aged, that  only  in  a  relative,  human  sense  can 
any  life-building  be  made  altogether  complete. 
Our  best  work  is  marred  and  imperfect.  It  is 
only  when  we  are  in  Christ,  and  are  co-workers 
with  him,  that  anything  we  do  can  ever  be  made 
perfect  and  beautiful.  But  the  weakest  and  the 
humblest,  who  are  simply  faithful,  will  stand  at 
last  complete  in  him.  Even  the  merest  frag- 
ment of  life,  as  it  appears  in  men's  eyes,  if  it 
be  truly  in  Christ,  and  filled  with  his  love  and 
with  his  Spirit,  will  appear  finished,  when  pre- 
sented before  the  divine  Presence.     To  do  God's 


UNFINISHED  LIFE-B  UILDING.  2  5 1 

will,  whatever  that  may  be,  to  fill  out  his  plan, 
is  to  be  complete  in  Christ,  though  the  stay  on 
earth  be  but  for  a  day,  and  though  the  work 
done  fulfil  no  great  human  plan,  and  leave  no 
brilliant  record  among  men. 

*'  Thy  work  unfinished!  Do  not  fear 
Though  at  his  coming  may  be  found 
The  stone  unset. 

Yet,  for  thy  faith,  beyond  the  skies 
Thine  own  shall  be  the  longed-for  prize. 
He  knoweth  best  who  calls  from  labor  now 
To  rest,  to  build  no  more." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

IRON   SHOES   FOR  ROUGH  ROADS. 

"  Our  feeble  frame  he  knoweth, 
Remembereth  we  are  dust; 
And  evermore  his  face  is  kind, 

His  ways  are  ever  just. 
In  evil  and  in  blindness, 

Through  darkened  maze  we  rove, 
But  still  our  Father  leads  us  home, 
By  strength  of  mighty  love." 

—  Margaret  E.  Sangster. 

The  matter  of  shoes  is  important.  Espe- 
cially is  this  true  when  the  roads  are  rough 
and  hard.  We  cannot  then  get  along  without 
something  strong  and  comfortable  to  wear  on 
our  feet.  One  would  scarcely  expect  to  find 
anything  in  the  Bible  about  such  a  need  as  this. 
Yet  it  only  shows  how  truly  the  Bible  is  fitted 
to  all  our  actual  life  to  discover  in  it  a  promise 
referring  to  shoes. 

In  the  blessing  of  Moses,  pronounced  before 
his  death  upon  the  several  tribes,  there  was  this 

252 


IR  ON  SHOES  FOR  R  0  UGH  R  OADS.  253 

among  other  things  for  Asher :  "  Thy  shoes 
shall  be  iron."  A  little  geographical  note  will 
help  to  make  the  meaning  plain.  Part  of 
Asher's  allotted  portion  was  hilly  and  rugged. 
Common  sandals,  made  of  wood  or  leather, 
would  not  endure  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
sharp,  flinty  rocks.  There  was  need,  therefore, 
for  some  special  kind  of  shoes.  Hence  the  form 
of  the  promise  :  *'  Thy  shoes  shall  be  iron." 

Even  the  Bible  words  which  took  the  most 
vivid  local  coloring  from  the  particular  circum- 
stances in  which  they  were  originally  spoken, 
are  yet  as  true  for  us  as  they  were  for  those  to 
whom  they  first  came.  We  have  only  to  get 
disentangled  from  the  local  allusions  the  real 
heart  of  the  meaning  of  the  words,  and  we  have 
an  eternal  promise  which  every  child  of  God 
may  claim. 

Turning,  then,  this  old-time  assurance  into  a 
word  for  nineteenth-century  pilgrims,  we  get 
from  it  some  important  suggestions.  For  one 
thing  it  tells  us  that  we  may  have  some  rugged 
pieces  of  road  before  we  get  to  the  end  of  our 
life-journey.     If  not,  what  need  would  there  be 


254  IRON  SHOES  FOR  ROUGH  ROADS. 

for  iron  shoes  ?  If  the  way  is  to  be  flower- 
strewn,  velvet  slippers,  as  Dr.  McLaren  some- 
where suggests,  would  do.  No  man  wants 
iron-soled  shoes  for  a  walk  through  a  soft 
meadow.  The  journey  is  not  likely  to  be  all 
easy.  Indeed,  an  earnest  Christian  life  is  never 
easy.  No  one  can  live  nobly  and  worthily  with- 
out struggle,  battle,  self-denial.  One  may  find 
easy  ways,  but  they  are  not  the  worthiest  ways. 
They  do  not  lead  upward  to  the  noblest  things. 
One  reason  why  many  people  never  grasp  the 
visions  of  beauty  and  splendor  which  shine 
before  them  in  early  years  is  because  they  have 
not  courage  for  rough  climbing. 

"  I  reach  a  duty,  yet  I  do  it  not, 

And,  therefore,  climb  no  higher ;  but  if  done, 
My  view  is  brightened,  and  another  spot 

Seen  on  my  mortal  sun ; 
For  be  the  duty  high  as  angel's  flight  — 

Fulfil  it,  and  a  higher  will  arise 
Even  from  its  ashes.     Duty  is  our  ladder  to  the  skies. 

And  climbing  not,  we  fall." 

We  shall  need  our  iron  shoes  if  we  are  to 
make  the  journey  that  leads  upward  to  the  best 
possibilities  of  our  life. 


IR  ON  SHOES  FOR  R  0  UGH  R  OADS.         255 

But  the  word  is  not  merely  a  prophecy  of 
rugged  paths ;  it  is  also  a  promise  of  shoeing 
for  the  road,  whatever  it  may  be.  One  who  is 
preparing  to  climb  a  mountain,  craggy  and  pre- 
cipitous, would  not  put  on  silk  slippers ;  he 
would  get  strong,  tough  shoes,  with  heavy 
nails  in  the  soles.  When  God  sends  us  on  a 
journey  over  steep  and  flinty  paths  he  will  not 
fail  to  provide  us  with  suitable  shoes. 

Asher's  portion  was  not  an  accidental  one  ; 
it  was  of  God's  choosing.  Nor  is  there  any 
accident  in  the  ordering  of  the  place,  the  con- 
ditions, the  circumstances,  of  any  child  of 
God's.  Our  times  are  in  God's  hands.  No 
doubt,  then,  the  hardnesses  and  difficulties  of 
any  one's  lot  are  part  of  the  divine  ordering  for 
the  best  growth  of  the  person's  life. 

There  was  a  compensation  in  Asher's  rough 
portion.  His  rugged  hills  had  iron  in  them. 
This  law  of  compensation  runs  through  all  God's 
distribution  of  gifts.  In  the  animal  world  there 
is  a  wonderful  harmony,  often  noted,  between 
the  creatures  and  the  circumstances  and  condi- 
tions amid  which  they  are  placed.     The  same 


256  IRON  SHOES  FOR  R O UGH  R OADS, 

law  rules  in  the  providence  of  human  life.  One 
man's  farm  is  hilly  and  hard  to  till,  but  deep 
down  beneath  its  ruggedness,  buried  away  in 
its  rocks,  there  are  rich  minerals.  One  person's 
lot  in  life  is  hard,  with  peculiar  obstacles,  diffi- 
culties and  trials ;  but  hidden  in  it  there  are 
compensations  of  some  kind.  One  young  man 
is  reared  in  affluence  and  luxury.  He  never 
experiences  want  or  self-denial,  never  has  to 
struggle  with  obstacles  or  adverse  circum- 
stances. Another  is  reared  in  poverty  and  has 
to  toil  and  suffer  privation.  The  latter  seems 
to  have  scarcely  an  equal  chance  in  life.  But 
we  all  know  where  the  compensation  lies  in  this 
case.  It  is  in  such  circumstances  that  grand 
manhood  is  grown,  while  too  often  the  petted, 
pampered  sons  of  luxury  come  to  nothing.  In 
the  rugged  hills  of  toil  and  hardship,  life's  finest 
gold  is  found. 

There  are  few  things  from  which  young  peo- 
ple of  wealthy  families  suffer  more  than  from 
over-help.  No  noble-spirited  young  man  wants 
life  made  too  easy  for  him  by  the  toil  of  others. 
What  he  desires  is  an  opportunity  to  work  for 


IRON  SHOES  FOR  ROUGH  ROADS.         257 

himself.  There  are  some  things  no  other  one 
can  give  us  ;  we  must  get  them  for  ourselves. 
Our  bodies  must  grow  through  our  own  exer- 
tions. Our  minds  must  be  disciplined  through 
our  own  study.  Our  hearts'  powers  must  be 
developed  and  trained  through  our  own  loving 
and  doing.  One  writes  of  two  friends  and  two 
ways  of  showing  friendship  :  — 

"  One  brought  a  crystal  goblet  overfull 
Of  water  he  had  dipped  from  flowing  streams 
That  rose  afar  where  I  had  never  trod  — 
Too  far  for  even  my  quickened  eye  to  see. 
They  were  fair  heights,  familiar  to  his  feet  — 
They  were  cool  springs  that  greeted  him  at  morn, 
And  made  him  fresh  when  noon  was  burning  high, 
And  sang  to  him  when  all  the  stars  were  out ; 
His  hand  had  led  them  forth,  and  their  pure  life 
Was  husbanded,  with  sacred  thrift,  for  flower, 
And  bird,  and  beast,  and  man.     The  hills  were  his. 
And  his  the  bright,  sweet  water.     Not  to  me 
Came  its  renewal.     I  was  still  athirst. 

"The  other  looked  upon  me  graciously. 
Beheld  me  wasted  with  my  bitter,  need, 
And  gave  me  —  nothing.     With  a  face  severe, 
And  prophet  brow,  he  bade  me  quickly  seek 


258  IRON  SHOES  FOR  R 0 UGH  R OADS, 

My  own  hard  quarry  —  there  hew  out  a  way 
For  the  imprisoned  waters  to  flow  forth 
Unhindered  by  the  stubborn  granite  blocks 
That  shut  them  in  dark  channels.     I  sprung  up, 
For  that  I  knew  my  Master ;  and  I  smote. 
Even  as  Moses,  my  gray,  barren  rock. 
And  found  sufficient  help  for  all  my  house, 
All  my  servants,  all  my  flocks  and  herds." 

The  best  friend  we  can  have  is  the  one,  not 
who  digs  out  the  treasure  for  us,  but  who 
teaches  and  inspires  us  with  our  own  hands  to 
open  the  rocks  and  find  the  treasures  for  our- 
selves. The  digging  out  of  the  iron  will  do  us 
more  good  than  even  the  iron  itself  when  it  is 
dug  out. 

Shoes  of  iron  are  promised  only  to  those  who 
are  to  have  rugged  roads,  not  to  those  whose 
path  lies  amid  the  flowers.  There  is  a  comfort- 
ing suggestion  here  for  all  who  find  peculiar 
hardness  in  their  life.  Peculiar  favor  is  pledged 
to  them.  God  will  provide  for  the  ruggedness 
of  their  way.  They  will  have  a  divine  blessing 
which  would  not  be  theirs  but  for  the  roughness 
and  ruggedness.  The  Hebrew  parallelism  gives 
the  same  promise,  without  figure,  in  the  remain- 


IRON  SHOES  FOR  ROUGH  ROADS.         259 

ing  words  of  the  same  verse  :  "As  thy  days  so 
shall  thy  strength  be."  Be  sure,  if  your  path  is 
rougher  than  mine,  you  will  get  more  help  than  I 
will.  There  is  a  most  delicate  connection  between 
earth's  needs  and  heaven's  grace.  Days  of  strug- 
gle get  more  grace  than  calm,  quiet  days.  When 
night  comes  stars  shine  out  which  never  would 
have  appeared  had  not  the  sun  gone  down.  Sor- 
row draws  comfort  that  never  would  have  come 
in  joy.     For  the  rough  roads  there  are  iron  shoes. 

There  is  yet  another  suggestion  in  this  old- 
time  promise.  The  divine  blessing  for  every 
experience  is  folded  up  in  the  experience  itself, 
and  will  not  be  received  in  advance.  The  iron 
shoes  would  not  be  given  until  the  rough  roads 
were  reached.  There  was  no  need  for  them 
until  then,  and  besides,  the  iron  to  make  them 
was  treasured  in  the  rugged  hills  and  could  not 
be  gotten  until  the  hills  were  reached. 

A  great  many  people  worry  about  the  future. 
They  vex  themselves  by  anxious  questioning  as 
to  how  they  are  going  to  get  through  certain 
anticipated  experiences.  We  had  better  learn 
once  for  all  that  there  are  in  the  Bible  no  prom- 


2 60  IR  ON  SHOES  FOR  R  O  UGH  R  OADS. 

ises  of  provision  for  needs  while  the  needs  are 
yet  future.  God  does  not  put  strength  into 
our  arms  to-day  for  the  battles  of  to-morrow ; 
but  when  the  conflict  is  actually  upon  us,  the 
strength  comes.  "As  thy  days  so  shall  thy 
strength  be." 

Some  people  are  forever  unwisely  testing 
themselves  by  questions  like  these :  "  Could 
I  endure  sore  bereavement  .-*  Have  I  grace 
enough  to  bow  in  submission  to  God,  if  he 
were  to  take  away  my  dearest  treasure .?  Or 
could  I  meet  death  without  fear  }  "  Such  ques- 
tions are  unwise,  because  there  is  no  promise  of 
grace  to  meet  trial  when  there  is  no  trial  to  be 
met.  There  is  no  assurance  of  strength  to  bear 
great  burdens  when  there  are  no  great  burdens 
to  be  borne.  Help  to  endure  temptation  is  not 
promised  when  there  are  no  temptations  to  be 
endured.  Grace  for  dying  is  nowhere  promised 
while  death  is  yet  far  off  and  while  one's  duty  is 
to  live. 

*'  Of  all  the  tender  guards  which  Jesus  drew 
About  our  frail  humanity,  to  stay 
The  pressure  and  the  jostle  that  alway 


IR  ON  SHOES  FOR  R  0  UGH  R  OADS.  26 1 

Are  ready  to  disturb,  what'er  we  do, 

And  mar  the  work  our  hands  would  carry  through, 

None  more  than  this  environs  us  each  day 

With  kindly  wardenship  —  '  Therefore,  I  say, 

Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow.'     Yet  we  pay 

The  wisdom  scanty  heed,  and  impotent 

To  bear  the  burden  of  the  imperious  Now, 

Assume  the  future's  exigence  unsent. 

God  grants  no  overplus  of  power :  'tis  shed 

Like  morning  manna.     Yet  we  dare  to  bow 

And  ask,  *  Give  us  to-day  our  morroiv's  bread.'  " 

There  is  a  story  of  shipwreck  which  yields  an 
illustration  that  comes  in  just  here.  Crew  and 
passengers  had  to  leave  the  broken  vessel  and 
take  to  the  boats.  The  sea  was  rough,  and 
great  care  in  rowing  and  steering  was  necessary 
in  order  to  guard  the  heavily-laden  boats,  not 
from  the  ordinary  waves,  which  they  rode  over 
easily,  but  from  the  great  cross-seas.  Night 
was  approaching,  and  the  hearts  of  all  sank  as 
they  asked  what  they  should  do  in  the  darkness 
when  they  would  no  longer  be  able  to  see  these 
terrible  waves.  To  their  great  joy,  however, 
when  it  grew  dark  they  discovered  that  they 
were  in  phosphorescent  waters  and  that  each 


262  IRON  SHOES  FOR  ROUGH  ROADS. 

dangerous  wave  rolled  up  crested  with  light 
which  made  it  as  clearly  visible  as  if  it  were 
mid-day. 

So  it  is  that  life's  dreaded  experiences,  when 
we  meet  them,  carry  in  themselves  the  light 
which  takes  away  the  peril  and  the  terror. 
The  night  of  sorrow  comes  with  its  own  lamp 
of  comfort.  The  hour  of  weakness  brings  its 
own  secret  of  strength.  By  the  brink  of  the 
bitter  fountain  itself  grows  the  tree  whose 
branch  will  heal  the  waters.  The  wilderness 
with  its  hunger  and  no  harvest  has  daily  manna. 
In  dark  Gethsemane,  where  the  load  is  more 
than  mortal  heart  can  bear,  an  angel  appears, 
ministering  strength  that  gives  victory.  When 
we  come  to  the  hard,  rough,  steep  path  we  find 
iron  for  shoes.  The  iron  will  be  in  the  very 
hills  over  which  we  shall  have  to  climb. 

So  we  see  that  the  matter  of  shoes  is  very 
important.  We  are  pilgrims  here  and  we  can- 
not walk  barefoot  on  this  world's  rugged  roads. 
Are  our  feet  shod  for  the  journey.? 

"  How  can  I  get  shoes,  and  where.?"  one  asks. 
Do  you  remember  about  Christ's  feet,  that  they 


IRON  SHOES  FOR  ROUGH  ROADS.         263 

were  pierced  with  nails  ?  Why  was  it  ?  That 
we  might  have  shoes  to  wear  on  our  feet,  and 
that  they  might  not  be  cut  and  torn  on  the  way. 

Christ's  dear  feet  were  wounded  and  sore 
with  long  journeys  over  thorns  and  stones,  and 
were  pierced  through  with  cruel  nails,  that  our 
feet  might  be  shod  for  earth's  rough  roads,  and 
might  at  last  enter  the  gates  of  pearl  and  walk 
on  heaven's  gold-paved  streets. 

Dropping  all  figure,  the  whole  lesson  is  that 
we  cannot  get  along  on  our  life's  pilgrimage 
without  Christ ;  but  having  Christ  we  shall  be 
ready  for  anything  that  may  come  to  us  along 
the  days  and  years. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS. 

"  Never  delay 
To  do  the  duty  which  the  hour  brings, 
Whatever  it  be  in  great  or  smaller  things; 

For  who  doth  know 
What  he  shall  do  the  coming  day  ?  " 

The  shutting  of  a  door  is  a  little  thing  and 
yet  it  may  have  infinite  meaning.  It  may  fix  a 
destiny  for  weal  or  for  woe.  When  God  shut 
the  door  of  the  ark  the  sound  of  its  closing  was 
the  knell  of  exclusion  to  those  who  were  with- 
out, but  it  was  the  token  of  security  to  the  little 
company  of  trusting  ones  who  were  within. 
When  the  door  was  shut  upon  the  bridegroom 
and  his  friends  who  had  gone  into  the  festal 
hall,  thus  sheltering  them  from  the  night's 
darkness  and  danger,  and  shutting  them  in 
with  joy  and  gladness,  there  were  those  outside 
to  whose  hearts  the  closing  of  that  door  smote 
264 


THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS.  265 

despair  and  woe.  To  them  it  meant  hopeless 
exclusion  from  all  the  privileges  of  those  who 
were  within  and  exposure  to  all  the  sufferings 
and  perils  from  which  those  favored  ones  were 
protected. 

Here  we  have  hints  of  what  may  come  from 
the  closing  of  a  door.  Life  is  full  of  illustra- 
tions. We  are  continually  coming  up  to  doors 
which  stand  open  for  a  little  while  and  then  are 
shut.  An  artist  has  tried  to  teach  this  in  a 
picture.  Father  Time  is  there  with  inverted 
hour-glass.  A  young  man  is  lying  at  his  ease 
on  a  luxurious  couch,  while  beside  him  is  a  table 
spread  with  rich  fruits  and  viands.  Passing  by 
him  toward  an  open  door  are  certain  figures 
which  represent  opportunities ;  they  come  to 
invite  the  young  man  to  nobleness,  to  manli- 
ness, to  usefulness,  to  worth.  First  is  a  rugged, 
sun-browned  form,  carrying  a  flail.  This  is 
labor.  He  invites  the  youth  to  toil.  He  has 
already  passed  far  by  unheeded.  Next  is  a 
philosopher,  with  open  book,  inviting  the  young 
man  to  thought  and  study,  that  he  may  master 
the   secrets   in   the   mystic  volume.     But   this 


266  THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS, 

opportunity,  too,  is  disregarded.  The  youth 
has  no  desire  for  learning.  Close  behind  the 
philosopher  comes  a  woman  with  bowed  form, 
carrying  a  child.  Her  dress  betokens  widow- 
hood and  poverty.  Her  hand  is  stretched  out  ap- 
pealingly.  She  craves  charity.  Looking  closely 
at  the  picture  we  see  that  the  young  man  holds 
money  in  his  hand.  But  he  is  clasping  it  tightly, 
and  the  poor  widow's  pleading  is  in  vain.  Still 
another  figure  passes,  endeavoring  to  lure  and 
woo  him  from  his  idle  ease.  It  is  the  form  of 
a  beautiful  woman,  who  seeks  by  love  to  awaken 
in  him  noble  purposes,  worthy  of  his  powers,  and 
to  inspire  him  for  ambitious  efforts.  One  by 
one  these  opportunities  have  passed,  with  their 
calls  and  invitations,  only  to  be  unheeded.  At 
last  he  is  arousing  to  seize  them,  but  it  is  too 
late ;  they  are  vanishing  from  sight  and  the 
door  is  closing. 

This  is  a  true  picture  of  what  is  going  on  all 
the  time  in  this  world.  Opportunities  come  to 
every  young  person,  offering  beautiful  things, 
rich  blessings,  brilliant  hopes.  Too  often,  how- 
ever, these  offers  and  solicitations  are  rejected 


THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS.  267 

and  one  by  one  pass  by,  to  return  no  more. 
Door  after  door  is  shut,  and  at  last  men  stand 
at  the  end  of  their  days,  with  beggared  lives, 
having  missed  all  that  they  might  have  gotten 
of  enrichment  and  good  from  the  passing  days. 

Take  home.  A  true  Christian  home,  with  its 
love  and  prayer  and  all  its  gentle  influences,  is 
almost  heaven  to  a  child.  The  fragrance  of  the 
love  of  Christ  fills  all  the  household  life.  Holi- 
ness is  in  the  very  atmosphere.  The  benedic- 
tions of  affection  make  every  day  tender  with 
its  impressiveness.  In  all  life  there  come  no 
other  such  opportunities  for  receiving  lovely 
things  into  the  life,  and  learning  beautiful  les- 
sons, as  in  the  days  of  childhood  and  youth  that 
are  spent  in  a  home  of  Christian  love.  Yet 
how  often  are  all  these  influences  resisted  and 
rejected.  Then  by  and  by  the  door  is  shut. 
The  heart  that  made  the  home  is  still  in  death. 
The  gentle  hand  that  wrought  such  blessing  is 
cold.  Many  a  man  in  mid-life  would  give  all  he 
has  to  creep  back  for  one  hour  to  the  old  sacred 
place,  to  hear  again  his  mother's  voice  in  coun- 
sel or  in  prayer,  to  feel  once  more  the  gentle 


268  THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS. 

touch  of  her  hand  and  to  have  her  sweet  com- 
fort.    But  it  is  too  late.     The  door  is  shut. 

Take  education.  Many  young  people  fail  to 
realize  what  golden  opportunities  come  to  them 
in  their  school-days.  Too  often  they  make  little 
of  the  privileges  they  then  enjoy.  They  some- 
times waste  in  idleness  the  hours  they  ought  to 
spend  in  diligent  study  and  helpful  reading. 
They  might,  if  they  would,  fit  themselves  for 
high  and  honorable  places  in  after  years;  but 
they  let  the  days  pass  with  their  opportunities. 
By  and  by  they  hear  the  school  door  shut 
Then,  all  through  their  years  they  move  with 
halting  step,  with  dwarfed  life,  with  powers 
undeveloped,  unable  to  accept  the  higher  places 
that  might  have  been  theirs  if  they  had  been 
prepared  for  them,  failing  often  in  duties  and 
responsibilities  —  all  because  in  youth  they 
wasted  their  school-days  and  did  not  seize  the 
opportunities  that  then  came  to  them  for  prep- 
aration. Napoleon,  when  visiting  his  old  school, 
said  to  the  pupils,  "  Boys,  remember  that  every 
hour  wasted  at  school  means  a  chance  of  mis- 
fortune in  future  life."     Thousands  of  failures 


THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS.  269 

along  the  years  of  manhood  and  womanhood 
attest  the  truth  of  this  monition. 

Friendship  is  another  opportunity  that  offers 
great  blessing.  Before  every  young  person 
stand  two  kinds  of  friends,  ever  reaching  out  a 
beckoning  hand.  The  one  class  whisper  of 
pleasures  that  lead  to  sin  and  debasement. 
They  offer  the  young  man  the  v/ine-glass,  the 
gambling-table,  the  gratification  of  lust  and  pas- 
sion. They  offer  the  young  woman  flattery,  gay 
dress,  the  dance,  pleasures  that  will  tarnish  her 
womanly  purity.  We  all  know  the  end  of  such 
friendship. 

But  there  is  another  class  of  friends  who 
stand  before  young  people,  wooing  them  to 
noble  things.  They  may  be  plain,  perhaps 
homely,  almost  stern  in  their  earnestness  of 
purpose  and  in  the  seriousness  with  which  they 
talk  of  life.  They  call  to  toil,  to  diligence,  to 
self-denial,  to  heroic  qualities  of  character,  to 
purity,  to  usefulness,  to  "  whatsoever  things  are 
true,  whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever 
things  are  honorable,  whatsoever  things  are 
lovely."     It  is  impossible  to  overstate  the  value 


270  THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS. 

of  the  blessings  that  true,  wise,  and  worthy 
friendship  offers  to  the  young.  It  seeks  to 
incite  and  stimulate  them  to  their  best  in  char- 
acter and  achievement.  It  would  lift  them  up 
to  lofty  attainment,  to  splendid  victoriousness. 
The  young  people  to  whom  comes  the  offer  of 
such  friendship  are  most  highly  favored. 

But  how  often  do  we  see  the  blessing  rejected 
for  the  solicitation  of  mere  idle  pleasures  that 
bring  no  true  good,  that  entangle  the  life  in  all 
manner  of  complications,  that  lead  into  the  ways 
of  temptation,  and  that  too  often  end  in  disaster 
and  sorrow. 

There  is  a  time  for  the  choosing  of  friends, 
and  when  that  time  is  passed  and  the  choice  has 
been  made,  the  door  is  shut.  Then  it  is  too 
late  to  go  back.  There  are  many  people  in 
mid-life,  bound  now  in  the  chains  of  evil  com- 
panionships, who  would  give  all  they  have  for 
the  sweet  delights  and  pure  pleasures  of  friend- 
ship which  once  might  have  been  theirs,  which 
in  youth  reached  out  to  them  in  vain  white 
hands  of  importunity  and  blessing.  But  it  is 
too  late  ;  the  door  is  shut. 


THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS.  2; I 

So  it  is  with  the  opportunities  of  doing  good 
to  others,  comforting,  helping,  cheering,  Hghten- 
ing  burdens,  giving  gladness  and  joy.  We  stand 
continually  before  open  doors  which  we  do  not 
enter.  Ofttimes  we  shrink  with  timid  feeling 
from  the  sweet  ministry,  holding  back  the  sym- 
pathetic word  or  restraining  ourselves  from 
the  doing  of  the  gentle  kindness,  thinking  our 
proffer  of  love  might  be  unwelcome.  Or  we  do 
not  perceive  the  opportunity  to  give  a  blessing. 
This  is  true  very  often,  especially  in  the  closer 
and  more  tender  intimacies  of  life.  We  do  not 
recognize  the  heart-hunger  in  our  loved  ones, 
and  we  walk  with  them  day  by  day,  failing  to 
help  them  in  the  thousand  ways  in  which  we 
might  help  them,  until  they  are  gone  from  us 
and  the  door  is  shut.  Then  all  we  can  do  is  to 
bear  the  pain  of  regret,  having  only  the  hope 
that  in  some  way  in  the  life  beyond,  we  may 
be  able  to  pay  —  though  so  late  —  love's  debt, 

"  How  will  it  be 
When  you  at  last  in  heaven  we  see  —> 
Dear  souls,  whose  footsteps  in  lost  days 
Made  musical  earth's  toil-worn  ways, 


2/2  THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS. 

While  we  not  half  the  loneliness 
That  bound  you  to  our  side  could  guess? 
Where  angels  know  your  footfall  we 
Are  fain  to  be. 

"  We  never  knew  — 
So  heedlessly  we  walked  with  you  — 
The  drops  we  jostled  from  your  cup, 
That  spilt,  could  not  be  gathered  up ; 
We  might  have  given  you  foam  and  glow 
From  our  own  beaker's  overflow ; 
Ah !  what  we  might  have  been  to  you 
We  never  knew. 

*'  We  might  have  lent 
Such  strength,  such  comfort  and  content 
To  you,  out  of  our  ample  store  ; 
We  might  have  hastened  on  before 
To  lift  the  shadows  from  your  way, 
Darkened,  ere  noon,  to  twilight's  gray ; 
With  earth's  chilled  air  love's  warm  heart-scent 
We  might  have  blent. 

*'  Dear,  wistful  eyes, 
Ye  haunt  us  with  your  kind  surprise, 
Your  tender  wonder  that  a  heart 
Should  thus  be  left  alone,  apart, 
So  loving,  so  misunderstood 
By  us,  in  our  self-centred  mood : 


THE  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS.  273 

Alas  !  in  vain  to  you  arise 

Our  longing  cries. 

"  Oh,  will  you  wait 
For  us  beyond  the  shining  gate  ? 
Though  lovely  gifts  behind  you  left. 
We  want  yourselves  ;  we  are  bereft. 
From  your  new  mansion  glorious 
Will  you  lean  out  to  look  for  us  ? 
Shut  is  the  far-off,  shining  gate  — 
Are  we  too  late  ?  " 

These  are  but  illustrations.  The  same  is 
true  in  all  phases  of  life.  Every  day  doors  are 
opened  for  us  which  we  do  not  enter.  For  a 
little  time  they  stand  open  with  bidding  and 
welcome,  and  then  they  are  closed,  to  be  opened 
no  more  forever.  To  every  one  of  us  along 
our  years  there  come  opportunities,  which,  if 
accepted  and  improved,  would  fit  us  for  worthy 
character,  and  for  noble,  useful  living,  and  lead 
us  in  due  time  to  places  of  honor  and  blessing. 
But  how  many  of  us  there  are  who  reject  these 
opportunities  and  lose  the  good  they  brought 
for  us  from  God !  Then  one  by  one  the  doors 
are  shut,  cutting  off  the  proffered  favors  while 
we  go  on  unblessed. 


274  ^^^  SHUTTING  OF  DOORS, 

There  is  another  closing  of  doors  which  is 
even  sadder  than  any  of  those  which  have  been 
suggested.  There  is  a  shutting  of  our  own 
heart's  door  upon  God  himself.  He  stands  at 
our  gate  and  knocks  and  there  are  many  who 
never  open  to  him  at  all,  and  many  more  who 
open  the  door  but  slightly.  The  latter,  while 
they  may  receive  blessing,  yet  miss  the  ful- 
ness of  divine  revealing  which  would  flood  their 
souls  with  love  ;  the  former  miss  altogether  the 
sweetest  benediction  of  life. 

*'  He  that  shuts  Love  out  in  turn  shall  be 

Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  his  threshhold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.     Nor  for  this 
Was  common  day  made  from  the  common  earth, 
Moulded  by  God  and  tempered  with  the  tears 
Of  angels  to  the  perfect  shape  of  man." 

This  sad  sound  of  closing  doors,  as  it  falls 
day  after  day  upon  our  soul's  ears,  proclaims  to 
us  continually  that  something  which  was  ours, 
which  was  sent  to  us  from  God,  and  for  which 
we  shall  have  to  answer  in  judgment,  is  ours  no 
longer,  is  shut  away  forever  from  our  grasp. 
It  is  a  sad  picture  —  the  five  virgins  standing 


THE  SHUTTING   OF  DOORS.  2/5 

at  midnight  before  a  closed  door  through  which 
they  might  have  entered  to  great  joy  and  honor, 
but  which  to  all  their  wild  importunity  will  open 
no  more.  It  is  sad,  yet  many  of  us  are  likewise 
standing  before  closed  doors,  doors  that  once 
stood  open  to  us,  but  into  which  we  entered 
not,  languidly  loitering  outside  until  the  sound 
of  the  shutting  fell  upon  our  ear  as  the  knell 
of  hopeless  exclusion  :  — 

*'  Too  late  !     Too  late  !     Ye  cannot  enter  now ! " 

Of  course  the  past  is  irreparable  and  irrevo- 
cable, and  it  may  seem  idle  to  vex  ourselves  in 
thinking  about  doors  now  closed,  that  no  tears, 
no  prayers,  no  loud  knockings,  can  ever  open 
again.  Yes ;  yet  the  future  remains.  The 
years  that  are  gone  we  cannot  get  back  again, 
but  new  years  are  yet  before  us.  They  too  will 
have  their  open  doors.  Shall  we  not  learn  wis- 
dom as  we  look  back  upon  the  irrevocable  past 
and  make  sure  that  in  the  future  we  shall  not 
permit  God's  doors  of  opportunity  to  shut  in 
our  faces  ? 


Princeton  Theolog.cal  Semmsry-Spee.   Ubrary 


1   1012  01004  7282 


